


Aim Towards The Sky

by littleblackfox



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Firefly Fusion, And violence, Angst, Brief References to Torture, F/M, Fluff, LOTS of violence, Luis has a crush on Peggy Carter in every 'verse, M/M, Space Pirates, That's right it's a gorram Firefly au!, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, as per frickin' usual, hooo boy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-01
Updated: 2017-05-17
Packaged: 2018-10-13 14:41:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 57,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10515807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleblackfox/pseuds/littleblackfox
Summary: Steve gets to his feet, taking the two steps to the container. He lifts the latches and pops the seal. Luis unholsters his second favourite gun and points it at the crate with a nervous whine.“Steve, what the hell are you doing?” Natasha hisses.Steve glances at her. “Lets see what we’ve got.”





	1. The Package

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Цель – небо](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15813498) by [fandom_Starbucks_Roles_TwoSexyMen_2018](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandom_Starbucks_Roles_TwoSexyMen_2018/pseuds/fandom_Starbucks_Roles_TwoSexyMen_2018)



> Behold, a Firefly au!
> 
> Look, think about it. Mal Reynolds. Steve Rogers. You know it makes sense.
> 
> Special thanks to the amazing [Moony](https://cobaltmoonysart.tumblr.com) for the stunning artwork. I owe you so many jellyfish!!!
> 
> Want to complain about Sebastian Stan and his annoying face? Come find me on [Tumblr](http://thelittleblackfox.tumblr.com)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve gets to his feet, taking the two steps to the container. He lifts the latches and pops the seal. Luis unholsters his second favourite gun and points it at the crate with a nervous whine.  
> “Steve, what the hell are you doing?” Natasha hisses.  
> Steve glances at her. “Lets see what we’ve got.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Behold, a Firefly au!
> 
> Look, think about it. Mal Reynolds. Steve Rogers. You know it makes sense.
> 
> Special thanks to the amazing [Moony](https://cobaltmoonysart.tumblr.com) for the stunning artwork. I owe you so many jellyfish!!!
> 
> Want to complain about Sebastian Stan and his annoying face? Come find me on [Tumblr](http://thelittleblackfox.tumblr.com)

Steve looks up as Luis skids the buggy up to the ship, leaving tyre marks on the polished floor. He sits back in the driver's seat and points to the crate loaded onto the trailer behind him.  
“Got it!”  
Natasha frowns at the large, brushed aluminium crate strapped onto the trailer, at the black stencilled letters on the side.  
“What the hell is that?” she snaps.  
Luis gives her a wide eyed look. “The cargo. Check out the serial number.”  
He starts up the buggy, crunching the gears. Natasha reaches out to the box, running her hand over the letters. WS-32557038.  
“You grabbed the wrong fucking box, Luis. You were supposed to get a package with just numbers, this is letters and numbers.”  
Steve comes over to read the serial number with her. “Plus it’s huge. Thing we’re after is about the size of a thermos,” he adds.  
Clint rolls his eyes. “I’ll go,” he mutters, grabbing the slip of paper with the serial number out of Luis’ hands and jogging across the loading bay.  
“But it’s the right number,” Luis mutters, watching Clint disappear down the corridor.  
Natasha swears under her breath, eyes moving over the serial number, her hand still resting on the crate.  
She turns to Steve, something that could be mistaken for panic in her eyes.  
“Steve, we’ve gotta dump it.”  
Luis yelps and guns the engine. “No frickin’ way! You know how hard this was to get? Thing was buried, man, it took forever to dig out.”  
Natasha shakes her head. “This is bad, we’ve gotta get rid of it.”  
She looks scared. Steve has never seen her look scared, not for anything.  
He shrugs and shoulders his rifle. “Alright, we’ll leave it here.”  
Luis lets out an indignant squeak.  
Natasha glances at him, her eyes tight, her mouth a thin line. “No, we dump it in space, drop it in low orbit somewhere, let it burn up in atmo.”  
“What?” Luis gasps.  
Steve watches her carefully. “What is it, Nat?”  
She shakes her head.  
“This is my score,” Luis mutters. “We ain’t dumping it.”  
Steve looks between the two of them and shakes his head, he doesn’t have time for this. “Get it secured, we’ll figure out what to do with it when we’re not in the middle of…” He trails off.  
“Crime,” Luis offers helpfully. “We’re in the middle of committing crime.”  
The corner of Natashas mouth curls up. Steve hates what they do for a living. “Breaking and entering,” she adds as she walks backwards up the ramp onto the ship, waving Luis to follow her and securing the buggy into position.  
“Don’t forget theft,” Luis adds cheerfully.  
Steve gives them an exasperated nod. “Yes, fine. Got it.”

Sirens start blasting, and the lights in the loading bay dim and turn red.  
Natasha swears under her breath and Steve grits his teeth. Never a break.  
“Luis, start up the engines. Nat, find out where the hell your husband has gotten to.”  
Luis runs for the gantry and clatters up the stairs towards the cockpit. Natasha opens her comms and yells at Clint, striding across the loading bay to the control panel.  
Steve positions himself by the cargo bay doors and bites his lip. He feels the low hum of the engines starting up, the lift and tug of the thrusters firing.  
Over the comms Clint is shrieking, Natasha ignoring him while she taps at the controls, overriding security and door locks.  
Clint comes screaming into the loading bay, a dull black canister with a serial code printed in silver in his hands.  
Natasha sets the loading bay doors to open and sprints after her husband to the ship, the sucking of air between the opening gates tugging at her hair, at her clothes. Steve slams the control panel and the ramp lifts, he reaches out and grabs for her hand, pulling her onboard as the doors slam shut.  
“Get us out of here,” he shouts to the cockpit.  
There is a lurch as the ship lifts up into the air. Luis is a terrible pilot, Steve thinks to himself as he’s knocked off his feet when the thrusters burn.  
Natasha lets out a soft huff as she falls to her knees, Clint just manages to keep a hold of the canister as he takes a tumble.  
Steve braces himself against the cargo bay doors. “Clint get up there before he kills us all,” he huffs.  
Clint gives him a sloppy salute before jogging across the cargo bay, taking the rickety metal stairs two at a time and disappearing down the corridor.  
Natasha gets to her feet. The brushed steel crate is right beside her, but she doesn’t use it for balance. She recoils every time the ships lurches, as though it might burn her. Or bite.  
“Luis,” she calls out. “Hand over controls before you kill us all!”  
There is a rustle and clatter over the tannoy, and the ship levels out.  
“Sorry, baby,” Clints voice drifts over the cargo bay.  
“Dumbass,” she mutters under her breath.  
Once they’re in the black, a course charted to the backwater planet of Manhattan and a meeting with Tony Stark confirmed, Steve makes his way down to the cargo bay.

He finds Natasha already there, crouched down on the scuffed metal grille flooring and staring at the crate.  
He takes the stairs slowly, giving her time to walk away. She remains where she is, and he squats down next to her.  
“What’s going on, Nat?”  
She glances up at him, shakes her head. He waits, biding his time until she finally speaks.  
“Rumours,” she murmurs. “Ghost stories. Unstoppable killing machines, built for the Coalition War. Called the Winter Soldiers.”  
“I heard about them. Synthetics, weren’t they? Looked like humans, but had guns for arms, explosives for teeth, that kind of thing?”  
Natasha nods.  
“You know how…before I started working for you I had...” she hesitates. “A reputation. A name for myself.”  
Steve nods. “That’s why I pay you so well,” he says with a smile.  
Steve doesn’t pay well. Half the time he can’t afford to pay at all, they barely make enough to keep the ship in the air and food on the table. The lie is a comfort though, a story to tell each other.  
“There were... My old employer used to tell stories.”  
“Stories?”  
Steve looks up. Luis and Clint are up on the gantry, looking down into the cargo bay. He sighs and waves at them to come down.  
“Sam, you wanna get down here?” Steve calls out.  
There is a muttered response over the speakers and, a minute later Sam appears. He follows Luis and Clint down the stairs and over to the join them.  
Steve looks around at his crew, his friends.  
“So… Killer robots? Used by SHIELD in the war, right?” Sam asks quietly.  
“Yeah, but those were just stories,” Luis shifts restlessly. “I mean, robotics is a dead end, yeah? They spent decades on it on the Earth Before and got nowhere. Not enough processing power. Right?”  
“Luis,” Sam says softly, and Luis snaps his mouth shut.  
Steve looks over at Natasha, who shakes her head.  
“Whatever they were, they were all destroyed.” She stares at the container. “At least that’s what SHIELD reports say...”  
“But you heard differently?”  
Natasha brushes her fingers across her lips. “Madame said some survived. Escaped into the black.”  
Steve shakes his head, he’s heard enough rumours. He gets to his feet, taking the two steps to the container. He lifts the latches and pops the seal. Luis unholsters his second favourite gun and points it at the crate with a nervous whine.  
“Steve, what the hell are you doing?” Natasha hisses.  
Steve glances at her. “Lets see what we’ve got.”  
He lifts the lid, the hinges creaking. The air temperature drops sharply as the frozen air disperses around them. Steve suppresses a shiver and looks down. The crate is packed with ice, a thermostat and temperature gauge fixed to one corner, it’s readings dull blue as they display the gradual increase in temperature.  
Steve glimpses pale, scarred skin rimed with frost, tangled dark hair. A silver hand curled loosely, knuckles pressed to the sternum.  
“Huh.”


	2. Salvage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve bites the inside of his cheek. “I just…thought I lost you back there.”  
> Buck nods once, sharply. “Yeah. Thought I lost me too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first chapter, folks!  
> Special thanks to Krycek-asks for regularly reminding me that I don't suck, and thanks to NurseDarry for enthusiastic hooting and mutual lusting over Bucky with the good hair
> 
> Nuestra hermanita - our little sister

Natasha levers open the control panel in the side of the ship, her movements slow and awkward in the bulky spacesuit, and pushes it to one side, letting it spin slowly into the black. She checks over the circuits and gets to work rerouting the systems.  
Luis floats beside her, his second favourite gun in his hands, despite it being near useless in the vacuum of space.  
“You okay there, Natty?” he asks hopefully.  
Natasha sucks air in through her teeth. “Whoever designed this is slightly smarter than me,” she admits.  
“You need to burn through?” he pats at the canister of hydrofluoric acid at his hip. It’s a last ditch option, acid in a foam suspension that, carefully applied, burns through the ceramic outer hull and metal inner hull in a contained manner. When not carefully applied, it burns through the ship, the canister, and anyone unfortunate enough to be in a five-meter radius of the canister.  
“No,” Natasha says flatly.  
Luis pouts but doesn’t argue. He loosens his tether and floats back a few meters to take a look at the ship. Too large for a Bilander, too small for a SHIELD Frigate.  
“What d’you think is in there? I mean, the shuttle pods have all been deployed, so I’m guessing not people, that would be awkward.”  
Natasha curses under her breath and jams a tool into the control panel. “Cargo hauler, hopefully.”  
“Yeah, but everyone left, right? Clint said no life signs, and a sweet-ass ship like this? No way you’d just up and leave.” Luis frowns. “What if there’s, like, some sort of space plague? We go in, take off our helmets and bam! Our skins turn inside out.”  
Natasha snorts. “Space plague?”  
“For real, though. My cousin Ernesto said that he did a job for these Ukrainians, and they were decent folks, made a mean pierogi, but they were hauling _alien artifacts_ , man. Glowing green shit. So, I’m just saying, stuff is out there, more things in heaven and earth, right?”  
“The ship is powered by glowing green shit, you know that, right?”  
Luis’ eyes widen. “Oh, yeah. Right.” He pats his second favourite gun nervously. “Still. Could be alien slime.”  
Natasha rolls her eyes and opens the comms to the Kitsune. “Cap, we’re good to go.”

Back in the Cargo Bay of the Kitsune Steve glances over at Buck, who is pacing up and down impatiently, tugging at the cuffs of his long sleeved t-shirt. Steve opens the coms to the bridge.  
“Here goes nothing. Deploy airlock.”  
Clint mutters a confirmation and adjusts the ship's position before engaging the airlock, latching it onto the derelict’s standard matching bulkhead while Luis and Natasha keep clear of the sides. “Okay, honey, do your thing.”  
Natasha snorts and keys in a final sequence, and the derelict’s airlock whooshes open. Luis lets out a yelp as they re-pressurise, and grabs the nearest handhold on the bulkhead before gravity punches him through the flexible mylar membrane of the airlock. “Looks like life support is still good,” he calls out weakly.  
“Nat?” Steve calls.  
She steps neatly through the airlock and finds a control panel. “Life support, gravity, all within normal parameters.”  
Steve confirms and goes to the control panel, hitting the green button and stepping back as the Cargo Bay doors hiss open, lowering like a drawbridge spanning the short length of airlock and sitting neatly on the derelict’s open hatch. Luis lets go of the handhold and lands with a dull thump on the makeshift ramp.  
Natasha nods to herself. “That’s my man.” Although she can’t see it, she knows Clint will be smiling.

Steve turns to Buck and points a finger at him. “You wait here.”  
Buck whines at him. “Aw, Steve. C’mon, there’s no one down there, I’ll be fine. Plus I need new filaments for the grav dampener.” Buck swings his arms back and forth, his left hand flashing silver in the overhead lights. “You want to lose gravity every time Clint spins us around?”  
“Hey!” Clint calls over the comms.  
Steve presses a thumb between his eyebrows, he really doesn’t need to have this discussion again. “Wait. Here. We’ll do a sweep, and if it's clear, I’ll call you.” Buck grins at him. _Damnit_. “If,” he repeats.  
“Sure thing, Stevie,” Buck pulls an elastic band off his wrist and gathers his dark hair up in a short bun at the nape of his neck, a few strands falling over his eyes.  
Steve grumbles under his breath and stalks down the the airlock.  
He takes a quick look around and tells Natasha to do a recon and Luis to start gathering up loot.  
“Don’t be greedy,” Steve murmurs. “A couple of loads, alright?”  
Luis nods and heads up to the Galley. Steve watches him leave, and starts to make his way through the decks.

“What the hell is this thing?” Natasha’s voice crackles in Steve’s ear. “It’s not a cargo ship, seems like it was run by a minimal crew.”  
Steve peers through another doorway, a white, sterile room, the banks of computer screens blank and unresponsive. “Looks like a science vessel.” He reaches up and pokes at one of the dead terminals before lowering his hand, letting it hover over the pistol at his hip. “Nat, you having any luck getting into the system?”  
Natasha offers a noncommittal sound, and Steve leaves her to it. Whatever the reason the crew up and left, the ship is deserted.  
“Alright, Buck,” Steve murmurs.  
He hears a little squeak of delight, and can’t help the way a smile tugs at his lips. It’s been hard on Buck the last few months, stuck on the ship while they’ve worked the central planets. But Steve would rather have him bored and petulant and holed up in one one of the smuggling compartments than risk having him seen.  
“No stripping parts until we’re ready to leave, you hear me? I don’t want to be spinning out of control because _someone_ took a fancy to the port thruster.”  
Buck snorts, Steve’s lectures never work on him. “That was one time.”  
“How were you even planning on getting it on board the ship?!”  
The chuckle over the comms makes his heart miss a beat.  
“Got it, Stevie. Look but don’t touch.”  
_What the hell is that supposed to mean?_  
Steve huffs and tugs at the collar of his shirt. The ship, silent and empty and drifting through space, makes him uneasy.  
“Got something, Cap,” Natasha calls over the comms.  
“Where are you?”  
“C-Deck.”  
It’s only one level up. “On my way.”

Steve finds Natasha in what looks like an officers mess, a little down from the galley where Luis is clearing out the food stores. She’s sat at a desk, linked up to one of the computers and transferring data, indifferent to the chaos around her, the floor littered with shredded documents and crushed data rods.  
“Oh this isn’t disturbing.” Steve mutters under his breath. “What’ve you got?”  
Natasha pulls up a hologram, a circular red and black logo of a skull with six tentacles curled around it. “It’s a Hydra ship, SHIELD science division.”  
“Well don’t that just make you feel warm and fuzzy,” Steve remarks, staring at the logo.  
Natasha snorts. “The Sokovian, research vessel. Abandoned… Looks like it’s been a few weeks now.”  
“Any idea why?”  
Natasha frowns. “It’s encrypted, I’d need to dig through the data. I mean, what I’ve got here is patchy.” She shrugs, “Project cancelled.”  
Steve hums and gives her a light pat on the shoulder. “Get what you can, we don’t want to stick around any longer than we have to.”  
He goes back to the galley to check on Luis. “Good haul?”  
Luis throws a large, foil wrapped bar at him. He catches it and peels back a corner.  
“SHIELD-issue nutrient bar, full of protein, vitamins, immuno-boosters. Feed the entire crew for a week.” Luis shrugs. “Tastes like shit, but we won’t starve.”  
Steve takes a cautious nibble. It’s tough and chewy, a vaguely savoury flavour with a chemical aftertaste. “Can we sell it?”  
Luis seals the lid on a commandeered wheeled crate before getting started filling up a second. “SHIELD stamped, every molecule. Could probably sell it to one of the outlier planets, maybe Peggy?” Luis drops an armful of nutrient bars into the crate, “Didn’t she shoot you?”  
“It was one time,” Steve grumbles. “Over a perfectly reasonable misunderstanding.”  
He wraps up the nutrient bar and tosses it in the case. There is a crackle over the comms and an odd, pained sound. _Buck_.  
Steve starts running for the stairwell. “Bucky?” he calls. “Buck, where are you?”  
There is no response, and Steve hurls himself down the stairway. 

“Nat, where’s the engine room?” Steve shouts down the comms.  
“Aft,” comes the response, he can hear her moving, taking the stairwell at the far end of the ship. “Lower deck. We got a situation?”  
Steve clatters along the gantry to the engine room, and finds it deserted. There is a collection of machine parts and tools carefully laid out on the floor.  
“Buck?” he calls out, but there is no answer. He picks his way down the corridor, following the piles of bolts and coiled cables, neatly stacked down the left side like a breadcrumb trail until he reaches a hatch.  
It’s open, and he steps through into a laboratory, the overhead strip lights flickering. Work benches and monitors overturned. In the middle of the debris are two iron cells, small and square, fronted with reinforced glass. Standing in front of them is Buck, his metal arm stretched out, silvered fingers pressed to the glass.  
“Bucky?” Steve calls softly.  
Buck turns to him, and for a moment he is unrecognisable, his eyes dark, his posture threatening.  
Steve takes a step back and Buck blinks rapidly, and his eyes are blue again. He presses his metal fingers to the enforced glass, and they scrape downwards, the noise dischordant and sharp.  
“Steve,” Buck whimpers, and turns back to the cells.  
Steve takes the few, cautious paces to Buck’s side, and peers into the cells.

They are identical, barely six feet in height, and the same again in length. Half of the interior taken up with a bare mattress, both pressed to the walls that divide them. It takes a moment for Steve to realise the bundle of fabric piled on each bed is a person. In each cell a pale hand reaches out from the covers to press against the wall. Palms flat, fingers splayed, separated by inches.  
Steve shivers and pulls himself together, fumbling for the comms. “Clint,” he hesitates, staring at Buck as he presses his cheek to the glass, his mouth turned down at the corners, eyes distant. His other hand hangs limply by his side, fine tremors making his fingers shake. Did he know something about this place?  
Buck rarely spoke of his life before, but from the nightmares, the early months when he holed himself up in the engine room and worked himself to exhaustion. From the times Steve had found him curled up into a ball in one of the smuggling compartments, cramped and confined like he was back in the damned storage unit they found him in. Well, it wasn’t hard to draw conclusions.  
Whoever hacked off his left arm and replaced it with metal, whoever cut into his brain, burned away his memories, did they keep him locked up in a cell like these?  
Steve clenches his teeth until his gums ache. “Clint, can you check again for life signs?” His voice sounds strained to his own ears.  
There is a pause before Clint responds. “Four, Cap.”  
Buck lets out a quiet, awful sound.  
“Check again,” Steve growls.

Boots clatter down the hallway, and Natasha appears in the doorway, her sawn-off shotgun up and pointed at Buck, Luis close behind her. Steve waves at her to lower her weapon, furious. Buck ignores her, not even twitching when she lets the barrel drop, but still keeps a finger on the trigger. Luis hisses at her, but she ignores him, stepping away and slowly circling the room, keeping a wary distance from Buck, Luis remains uncharacteristically silent.  
“There’s…” Clints voice is loud in their ears. “There’s something. Two readings, in the lower deck.”  
Steve casts around. “There’s gotta be a control panel somewhere,” he mutters.  
Natasha starts searching the room, sifting through the debris while Luis lifts up overturned monitors, searching for something, anything.  
Bucky clenches his left fist and slams it into the plexiglass. It barely makes a mark. He pulls back his arm and strikes again.  
“Bucky,” Steve calls out, but is ignored as Buck turns and slams his fist into the iron side of the cell, buckling it. He strikes again, roaring as he tears through the metal like it was tin. Natasha stumbles backwards, taking shelter behind one of the overturned tables.  
Steve turns to Luis and holds out his hand. “Tell me you brought a crowbar.”  
Luis nods, reaching into a long pocket on the leg of his combats and pulling out a curved length of steel, tossing it over to Steve, who snatches it out of the air and wedges it into the juncture where iron meets glass pane.  
“Buck!” he shouts.  
Buck glances over and catches on quickly, digging his metal fingers into the ironwork and ripping it, breaking the seal around the glass. Steve throws all his strength into prising the panel loose, Buck gripping the sharp edge and grunting with effort until the pane comes loose, clattering to the floor. Buck leaps over the threshold and onto the mattress, lifting up the fragile bundle, all the wrath suddenly gone from his expression, replaced with something terrible and vulnerable.  
He carries the body out of the cell, pausing in front of Steve, like he’s asking for permission.  
Steve hates to see his shoulders hunched in deference, and wants his teasing, back-talking, pain-in-the-ass mechanic back so fiercely it makes his heart ache.  
He pulls back the blanket and sees a glimpse of pale skin, hair as red as the Kitsune’s hull. Thin, far too thin, red lips blistered and scabbed.  
“She’s just a kid,” Steve breathes.  
Buck stares at him, waiting. Like there was any possibility he’d say no.  
“Sam,” Steve croaks into the comms. “We’ve got two survivors, critical condition.”  
He hears a confirmation and turns to Luis. “Take her, get her to Sam, fast as you can.”  
Buck sucks in a breath and takes a step back. “No,” his voice is barely audible.  
Steve nods to Luis, who reaches out to take the girl. “C’mon, brah, I got her. _Nuestra hermanita_ , yeah?”  
“We still need to get the other one out, Buck,” Steve points to the other cell. “Can’t do it without you.”  
Buck blinks, his eyes wet, and carefully places the girl in Luis’ arms. Luis gives him a quick smile before heading down the corridor and back to the airlock.  
Steve lifts his crowbar, and Buck gives him a grim little nod, turning to the second cell and driving his fist into the seal between metal and glass.  
“Nat,” Steve calls out. He can’t see her, but he knows she’s in the room. “Luis has some gear in the galley ready to go, can you get on that?”  
She doesn’t answer, but he hears her boots clattering down the corridor as he drives the crowbar into the cell wall and the metal twists and shrieks.  
In the other cell is a boy, his ribs showing clearly through his thin shirt, his hair a shock of grey. Buck picks him up with equal care, turning to Steve.  
“Get him down to Sam,” Steve utters softly, and Bucky nods, taking off down the corridor at a run.

Steve gives himself a minute in the wreckage of the laboratory to let his shoulders drop and his heart ache. Damn it, why can’t things go right for once?  
He lifts his chin and takes a deep breath. “Nat, what’s our situation?”  
“Survivors and cargo on board, Cap.”  
He nods to himself. “Okay, I want you and Luis back over here on the double, get everything you can. This is a salvage op now, you hear?”  
He hears confirmation is stereo and opens a private channel. “Buck, you with me?” He tries to keep the his voice steady. Fails.  
There is a crackle, and for a moment he thinks he’ll get no answer.  
“Yeah, Stevie. I’m with you.”  
Steve closes his eyes and swallows reflexively.  
_Thank you._  
He clears his throat. “You left this place in a state, you expect me to pick up after you?!”  
There is a snort of amusement over the comms. “You know you love it.”  
Steve covers his mouth, suppressing a sound somewhere between laughter and…something else. Something he’s not ready or inclined to take a closer look at yet.  
“That everything, or have you got your eye on the bulkhead too?”  
“Nah, don’t like the colour,” Buck retorts.  
Steve laughs, each breath coming a little more easily. “Alright, but if I leave anything behind it’s your fault.”  
There is a snort of laughter. “That’ll be a real comfort if the grav dampener jams up and we’re flying backwards.”  
“I’ll bear that in mind.”

Steve collects up the trail of machine parts Buck left between the engine room and where he found the kids, stacking them carefully in the crates that Luis brings out to him. They work quickly and quietly, any communications terse and infrequent until Luis finally speaks up.  
“Can we get outta here? This place got bad energy, you know? Like that stuff that flakes up in a kettle when the Water Recovery System starts playing up? Crusts up the elements, leaves a…”  
“Residue,” Natasha says softly.  
“That’s right,” Luis agrees emphatically. “This place got residue crusted all over it.”  
Steve stops rifling through the SHIELD-issue clothing and glances around the dorm room he’s currently raiding. Whoever lived here had no qualms about sealing up kids in a metal box and leaving them to starve. He looks down at the bag he’d been slowly filling, and lets it drop, spilling uniform grey shirts across the floor.  
“Let’s get out of here.”  
He walks along the corridor, thumping down the stairs to the airlock where Natasha and Luis are waiting. He nods to them and they file out of the derelict, Natasha pausing to access the control panel and seal up the hatch on her way out.  
They walk up the gangplank to the Kitsune, the cargo bay littered with crates and bags of purloined goods. Steve hits the ship’s controls and the cargo bay doors rise up, sealing shut with a hiss.  
“Everybody on board?” Steve asks. There is a collective murmur of assent. “Okay, let’s get out of here.”  
Clint retracts the airlock, checking it’s secured before steering the ship away.  
“Back on course, Cap.”  
Steve crosses his arms over his chest. “Luis, I’m gonna need an inventory of what we got, and get all this squared away.  
“Already on it,” Luis waves a clipboard at him and tips over one of the crates, nutrient bars sliding across the metal grille flooring.  
Steve watches Natasha as she starts sorting through one of the cases. “Nat, you got a minute?”  
She looks at him warily, but nods, following Steve as he walks across the bay to the rickety metal stairs. 

They walk in silence up the stairs, coming to a stop when they’re out of earshot. Steve leans against the metal railing and fixes Natasha with a hard stare. She meets him with a defiant glare of her own.  
“Nat, I know you mean well, but if you point a gun at my mechanic again then we are going to have a conversation.”  
Natasha takes the warning about as well as he expected.  
“Your mechanic?” She hisses. “You have no idea what a Winter Soldier is capable of! They’re monsters, and one of these days he’ll turn-”  
“That’s enough!” Steve snaps, loud enough for Luis to stop taking inventory and look up at them both before returning to work. “Buck has been with us for what? More than a year now, and hasn’t put a foot wrong. Whatever he may have been once, doesn’t matter. He’s not a threat.”  
“Yeah? For how long?” Natasha snarls. “You saw him on the Sokovian, you saw what happened, he could’ve turned on us all-”  
“But he didn’t.” Steve cuts her off. “And until he actually turns into this fairy tale you’re so damned scared of,” Natasha scoffs at him, “you will treat him like a member of my crew, or you can find yourself another boat.”  
Natasha pales, but doesn’t relent. “And if he does turn?”  
Steve lets out a heavy sigh. “Then we will deal with it.” He closes his eyes. “He’s a person, Nat. Not a monster, not a, a Winter Soldier.” He opens his eyes and gives her an imploring look.  
She shakes her head. “I don’t trust him, Steve.”  
“Then trust me.”  
Natasha finally, _finally_ concedes. “Whatever you say, Cap.”  
She turns her back on him and walks back down the stairs, her boots clattering on the cheap metal steps. “But if he goes feral I’m letting him kill you first.”  
Steve smiles grudgingly, and continues up to the Infirmary.

_Steve climbs down the steps to his quarters and finds the Winter Soldier sitting on his bunk, both feet planted on the floor, hands resting on his knees, every muscle tense.  
Luis has taken to calling him ‘vaquero’ for whatever reason. After a single, clumsy attempt at the pronunciation Clint shrugged and said ‘Buck’ and the name stuck.  
He responds to it, at least. Before he would only react to his serial number.  
The Winter Soldier, Buck, looks up at him.  
“What are you doing here?” Steve asks warily.  
Buck sits up a little straighter. “Saw the way you were lookin’ at me.” His voice is a low rasp, still rough with disuse.  
Steve says nothing, still waiting for everything to make sense.  
“So.” Buck licks his lips. Wary, Pensive. “You want me sitting here? On my knees?”  
Steve steps back reflexively. “What? No?!” He snaps.  
Buck frowns at him. Licks his lips again. And Steve realises what's happening. He swallows, suddenly nauseous, bile in the back of his throat.  
“I like it here,” Buck says quietly. “I don’t wanna be traded again.”  
Steve shakes his head. “You’re not cargo. Or cattle. We’re not selling you,” he spits, horrified. Buck shakes his head, and that is more terrifying than anything, the resignation.  
“You don’t have to do anything.” Steve stutters. “Especially not that.”  
“Nothin’s free. Medicine. Food. Shelter. It’s all gotta price.”  
There must be something wrong with the life support, Steve thinks wildly. That’s why there’s no air. Then the words sink in, and the fear in his gut becomes anger.  
“Did someone make you..?” He can’t get the words out. They stick in his throat.  
Buck shakes his head. “Ain’t pretty enough.”  
You’re the most beautiful thing in the whole damn ‘verse, Steve thinks, his heart aching.  
“You don’t have to do this,” he says slowly. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want.”  
Tell me the names of the men who hurt you, Steve thinks. I’ll kill every last damn one of them.  
Buck lowers his head, his hands dangling between his knees, his shoulders slumped.  
Steve takes a step closer, cautious and slow. Before him is supposed to be a monster, if Natasha is to be believed. A killer, a ghost story. All Steve can see is a man, wounded and afraid, with a head full of scars and no memory of his life before Steve cracked open that damned crate.  
“You fixed the compressor,” he says eventually.  
Bucky shrugs. He taps his metal hand against the bedframe, the sharp ring echoing around the room. “Bypassed it. It was gumming up the works. Didn’t need it anyway.”  
“Still. You got a way with machines.”  
Bucky grunts noncommittally, staring at his metal hand.  
“We need a mechanic,” Steve says slowly. “You think you can keep the ship in the air?”  
Bucky glances up at him. His eyes as bright and blue as Earth-that-was.  
“Yeah. I can do that.”  
Steve moves closer. “You’d get your own room. Food on the table. A wage.”  
He hesitates for a moment. “When there’s money, I mean. Can’t pay you now, there’s barely enough to cover fuel. But when there’s money you’ll get a fair share.”  
Buck shakes his head. “Don’t want a room. Only one exit. Like a cell.”  
Steve shivers, but swallows the burn in the back of his throat and nods.  
“You get a room but you don’t have to sleep in it. Plenty of space in the engine room, if you prefer to bunk down there.”  
Buck stares at him before nodding his head. “Okay.” The corner of his mouth twitches, he nods again.  
“Okay.”_

The Infirmary is two flights up and towards the tail of the ship. Steve takes the stairs two at a time, pausing in the open doorway to look inside.  
The kids are lying side by side on twin gurneys, still in the off-white hospital scrubs they had been found in. Bucky is sitting on a stool next to the girl with an IV bag in his hand. He’s squeezing it, trying to get the contents into her veins a little faster. Opposite him, Sam is doing the same for the boy while operating the ship's med scanner.  
Buck glances up and gives Steve a small smile, which he can’t help but return.  
“Any news?” Steve asks, his voice hushed.  
Sam looks over from the data scrolling across the screen in front of him. “Still alive, mostly. Had a close call with the girl, but she’s holding in there.”  
Sam waves a hand across the screen and pulls up an outline of his patients. “Twins, seventeen by the looks of it.” Steve flinches and Sam gives him a sympathetic look.  
Steve joins him in front of the scanner, watching as he pulls up further images; a heart, a brain.  
“What am I looking at?” Steve asks.  
Sam purses his lips. “I know you don’t like having your ship besmirched, but this scanner ain't worth shit. What I really need is access to a neural imager.”  
“And I need a decent cup of coffee and a full night's sleep. We work with what we got.”  
Sam huffs and points to the heart on the screen, pulsing rapidly. “That’s the boy’s heart. It’s been artificially enlarged and reinforced. The adrenal glands too.” Sam brings up the other image. “This is the girl. They sliced into her brain, over and over.” he gestures to one of the marks on the screen. “This here is fairly recent, but these others,” he points to a mass of scarring. “Repeated incisions in the hypothalamus over a long time period.”  
Steve hears Buck draw in a sharp breath. “How long?”  
“Years,” Sam taps the screen again and the heart rates and respiration reappear on the screen.  
“You seen anything like this before?” Steve looks down at the boy, his shock of grey hair. Sam turns to look at Buck. “Yes.”  
For a moment Steve thinks he’s going to throw up. Buck looks no better, his eyes fixed on the girl.  
“Was it… Was it the same people?” Steve feels like he’s going to choke on the words, so he spits them out.  
Sam pulls up the image of the girl's brain, then goes into the ship's archive and pulls up a second image, positioning them side by side. The girls scan shows numerous careful incisions focused on a small area above the brainstem. On the other scan the incisions are everywhere.  
“This is Buck, right after we pulled him out of cryostasis. With her they focused on the areas controlling autonomic function, emotions and hormone production, with him,” Sam glances at Buck, who keeps his eyes lowered. “Hypothalamus, cerebrum, cerebellum, myelencephalon. Anything to do with somatic motor functions or memory they took a slice out of.”  
“Which is why I don’t remember a damn thing from more than a year ago,” Buck adds helpfully.  
Sam nods. “Can’t say if it was the same people, but they had access to his file.” He glances at the gurneys. “If it wasn’t them, then it was people following in their footsteps.” 

Steve shakes himself, and walks over to where Buck’s sitting. He gives him a light pat on the back. “There’s a cargo bay full of your junk,” he says, his voice brittle with forced cheer. “Go get it shifted before I toss it all out the airlock.”  
Buck nods and flashes him a weak smile. “You wouldn’t dare.”  
He hands over the IV bag and hops off the stool, pressing two fingertips to the girl's cheek and murmuring something that Steve doesn’t catch.  
“You let me know of any changes?” he asks Sam.  
“Sure thing,” Sam tells him, watching as Buck presses a hand to the boy’s leg before leaving.  
Sam changes over both IV bags and goes back to studying the information displayed on the scanner.  
“You think they’ll live?” Steve asks, the memory of Buck standing before him, the girl cradled in his arms, comes back to him.  
“They made it this long,” Sam offers. It’s not an answer  
Steve takes a closer look at the girl, her skin so pale and paper thin that he can see the fine blue threads of veins underneath, a stark contrast to her blood red hair.  
“Why would they leave them to starve?” he remembers Buck’s hunched shoulders, his lowered eyes, the way his metal fingers had curled so carefully around the girl's shoulder. “Why not just shut down the life support?”  
“Why would a doctor cut into a healthy girl's brain?” Sam murmurs absently. “Or a boy’s heart? Why leave them to slowly starve? Unless it was…” Sam falls silent.  
“What?” Steve watched as Sam's features twist in revulsion.  
“To keep them docile,” Sam utters. “Shut off the life support and you get an adrenalin spike, you get resistance. Starve someone, freeze them, they become lethargic, confused. Heart rate and respiration drop. They’re compliant. They can’t fight back.”  
Steve brushes a strand of blood red hair off the girl's face. “They’re just kids,” he murmurs. 

Steve leaves Sam with his patients and walks through the dorms, heading down a flight of stairs to the Galley.  
It had been a dull, functional space once, a counter with a single working stove. A couple of folding chairs. A row of individual crew lock-boxes for personal items, along with the communal food supply locker. Then Buck had come along and painted the whole room a soft, lemon yellow and filled every spare corner with pots of herbs. He’d even managed to rustle up a large wooden dining table during a job at one of the outer moons and a collection of mismatched chairs.  
And just like that the crew had gone from eating straight out of cans while leaning against the counter or hoarding meals in their bunks to sitting down every day at 1800 hours to have dinner together.  
Luis or Buck did most of the meals, though Natasha would occasionally make plov if rice was available. Whatever they ended up eating, the day ended with them all sitting around that big, wooden table, telling each other stories and arguing over who has to do the dishes.  
“Got the inventory all sorted,” Luis calls out, head and shoulders deep in one of the storage lockers. “We got enough shitty-assed nutrients to last us until the end of days.”  
Steve wanders over and picks up the clipboard Luis has left for him on the counter.  
It _is_ a lot nutrient bars. SHIELD encrypted and tough to sell on, even with a stretched and desperate black market. Stark wouldn’t be interested. Banner would maybe take a couple of crates, but not enough to cover the fuel they’d burn getting to him.  
Steve sucks his teeth. He’s going to have to contact Peggy, try and make a deal. And she’ll probably shoot him. Again.  
He drops the clipboard on the counter with a clatter.  
“Clint, can you send a message to Londonium? See if Peggy’s interested in some quality foodstuffs.” Steve sighs to himself. “Government stamped, so going at a low price.”  
“On it,” Clint responds. There is a pause just long enough for Steve to get his hopes up. “Hey, didn’t she shoot you one time?”  
Steve swears under his breath.

Luis pushes a cup of bad coffee into Steve’s hands, and he wraps his fingers around the chipped ceramic.  
“Thanks,” he murmurs and wonders how long he’s been lost in thought.  
“No problem, brah,” Luis says cheerfully. “How’s this batch taste?”  
Steve looks down at the cup in his hands. “Like burnt engine oil,” he says wearily.  
Luis nods sympathetically. “Burnt engine oil would probably taste better, y’know,” he muses as he gets to work on dinner, which mostly seems to be nutrient bar and beans.  
Steve forces down his coffee as Luis peels and chops an onion.  
“If we’re going to Londonium maybe we can stop off at Asgard? Get some real coffee? Maybe take a few days to chill and regroup, y’know? Shit’s been relentless lately and we could all use a break. I got a cousin out there, Ignacio. Dude’s like super-chill, makes his own liquor out of beets.” Steve shakes his head. “Nah, I’m serious. It’s not even purple, that shit clears right out, you can’t even tell. Except for, you know, the taste…”  
“Luis,” Steve says quietly, and Luis clamps his mouth shut. “I got barely enough money to fuel the ship, let alone keep her in the air and in one piece. We work with what we got.”  
Luis doesn’t make a fuss, just nods and starts frying off his onion, whistling to himself as he shakes the pan.  
Steve finishes the last of his bad coffee, setting it down on the counter.  
“The coffee’s not so bad,” he says.  
Luis grins at him. “Dude, the coffee is awful.”  
Steve nods. “Yeah, it’s terrible.” He shrugs. “All right, I’ll see you at dinner.”  
Luis tears open a nutrient bar. “Don’t be late. You gotta eat this crap, same as the rest of us.”  
Steve walks to the doorway, headed for the engine room.  
He pauses and glances back at Luis. “We’ll see how things go in Londonium, then maybe…”  
Luis’ eyes widen. “For reals?”  
“I’m not making promises,” Steve insists, but Luis is already bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Just… Maybe.” He hurries out before Luis can talk him into anything.  
“I love you, man!” Luis calls after him.

The tail of the ship is comprised mostly of fusion reactor, fuel tanks and thrusters. The main reactor, a horizontally positioned rotating column, taking up most of the engine room. Secondary propulsion is provided by twin engines at the rear of the ship, giving it additional maneuverability.  
The Engine room is Buck’s domain, and Steve occasionally despairs of the state it's in, wires trailing across the floor and spare parts scattered across every available surface.  
“Buck?” Steve calls out, treading carefully through the disaster zone. “I said cleared away, and this is not cleared away. I wasn’t kidding about the airlock.”  
Bucky pokes his head out from one of the open control panels. His hair hanging loose, a smudge of engine grease across his cheek. “Hey, that was the cargo bay,” he waves his socket wrench in an arc encompassing the whole engine room. “This here is a whole other subject for negotiation.”  
Steve’s heart clenches painfully in his chest. “Well at least clear up a bit, I want to be able to walk around my ship with risking a broken neck.”  
Buck gives him an incredulous look. “ _Your_ ship?” He pats the nearest wall. “Don’t you listen to him, babydoll.”  
Steve snorts and goes over to the open panel to offer Buck a hand climbing out. He accepts the offer, grabbing Steve’s wrist with his metal hand and climbing out with sinuous grace. His touch lingers a little before he lets go, slipping past Steve to rummage around in the nest of blankets in an alcove under the main reactor where he sleeps most nights. He finds the screwdriver he’s looking for and turns back.  
Steve face must give something away because Buck pauses and looks closely at him. “You alright, Steve?”  
Steve bites the inside of his cheek. “Yeah,” he says with a crooked smile. “I just…thought I lost you back there.”  
He hesitates, and is about to clarify when Buck nods once, sharply.  
“Yeah. Thought I lost me too.” He works his jaw, keeping his eyes fixed just to the left of Steve, head up but not meeting his eye. “Thought I was the last, y’know.” He taps his metal hand with the screwdriver, a sharp, high tone. “It was easier, being the last, being shelved. At least then no one else was getting torn up.” He smiles, brittle and sharp.  
“Nat says the ship was abandoned. Maybe they gave up?” Steve offers. The words sound hollow.  
Buck shrugs. “Maybe.” He looks at Steve through a curtain of dark hair. “What’s going to happen to them?”  
Steve can’t shake the image of Buck, his shoulders hunched, his eyes dark, the girl cradled in his arms. He blinks rapidly until his vision clears. “We’ll do what we can for them. Assuming they survive. One of the outer moons, maybe? Somewhere there isn’t much of a SHIELD presence.”  
Buck purses his lips. “You worried they might still be on the system?”  
Steve tilts his head to one side. “Maybe. It looked like a big operation.” He doesn’t mention how he worries that Buck is still in the system, or what would happen if he was caught.  
Buck twirls the screwdriver in his fingers, his mouth ticks up at one corner. “Seems to me that if they are, finding them would raise questions. Like how did they escape locked cells in an abandoned ship?”  
Steve opens his mouth, then snaps it shut again. Buck’s smile widens, and Steve presses his knuckles to his lips, hiding the upturn of his own mouth.  
“So. Safest thing would be if they kept on the move,” Buck bites his lower lip. “And we’re always moving.”  
Steve snorts and gives up on hiding his smile, letting his hands rest on his hips. “No guarantee they’ll live.”  
“But. If they do, they can stay?” Buck takes a step closer.  
Steve shakes his head. “I’m not promising anything.”  
“They can stay,” Bucky grins at him, his nose crinkling. “They can stay.”


	3. The Russian Job

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Pietro?” Buck asks. The boy nods.  
> “We’re safe,” he whispers to his sister. “We’re on a ship.”  
> She cocks her head, listening intently. “Foxfire class transport ship. Standard radion/accelerator core. Registration B-0217901.”  
> Steve feels his knees give way, and sits down on the debris strewn Infirmary floor before he falls down. “Yeah,” he says weakly. “That’s… how do you know that?”  
> She stares at him, unblinking. “She told me.”  
> “Okay,” Steve says dumbly. “That’s not weird.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy crap, there's a lot of you reading this!  
> Thank you to everyone for the comments and kudos, you guys are the best!
> 
> Thanks to the ever fabulous Eidheann for kicking my grammar into shape, Krycek asks for moral support and boundless enthusiasm, and Bohemienne for teaching me so many Russian words for shut up!
> 
> Malá sestra - little sister  
> Davai nam duraka - we want the idiot  
> Tikho/Zatknis - shut up  
> Ya brosu - I’m done

“Well, at least she didn’t shoot you this time,” Luis points out cheerfully.  
Steve bites back a curse and watches as Peggy, grey-haired and graceful in her older years, mounts her horse. Her second in command, Angie, with her sharp tongue and a sly smile, gives Steve an exaggerated wink while Natasha and Luis load up her dray wagon with the goods.  
“Good to see you, Steve,” Peggy says with a wide, red-painted smile, the only bright spot of colour on the dusty, godforsaken moon of hers.  
“Yeah, but not pay-the-asking-price good,” Steve answers ruefully.  
She clucks her tongue at him. “Come now, Steve. If I paid the asking price on anything, you think I’d still be the mayor?”  
Steve looks down at the envelope in his hand. Ten percent less than the already low asking price. He bites his tongue.  
Luis slots the final crate into position. “That’s the last of ‘em.” He bows to Angie and holds out a hand to help her onto the front. She accepts it, climbing onto the bench seat and making herself comfortable before taking up the reins.  
Peggy flashes them one last smile before guiding her horse down the dirt trail, Angie and the wagon following close behind.  
Natasha snorts. “You alright there, Luis?”  
Luis sighs. “That lady is _fine_ , you know what I’m saying.”  
“Never gonna happen, Luis,” Natasha points out.  
“Yeah,” He watches the two figures disappear. “Can’t stop a guy from dreaming.”  
“She’s, what? Ninety?” Natasha snorts.  
“Aged like a fine-ass brandy,” Luis kicks his heels, stirring up dust.  
“And she shot me one time,” Steve adds.  
Luis shrugs. “Aww, c’mon, Cap. Can’t hold that against her. Any one of us has had the compulsion to shoot you one time or another.”  
Steve turns to Natasha for backup, but she nods in agreement.  
“The leg,” he reminds them. “She shot me in the leg. Why am I the only one who cares about that?”  
“You did drink her whiskey,” Natasha reminds him.  
“There were a lot of glasses on the table!”  
“Mostly empty,” Luis adds.  
“Why am I the only one who cares about this?”  
Natasha slings an arm around Steve’s shoulder and they start walking back towards the ship. “Of course she cares, Cap. Otherwise she’d have haggled you down to twenty percent.”  
Steve tucks the envelope into his coat pocket. He had expected her to push to twelve percent, maybe fifteen. Ten percent he can live with. “What say we make a stop off at Asgard? Pick up a few supplies?”  
Luis yelps and slaps Steve on the back, hard enough to make him wince. “Let me tell you guys, you are gonna love this beet shit. You are gonna go crazy for it.”  
Natasha wraps her arm a little more tightly around Steve’s neck, and leans close enough to whisper in his ear. “If I am forced within a mile of this beet shit, I will kill every last one of you.”  
Steve pats the back of her hand. “That would be a kindness.”

Bucky folds his arms across his chest, blocking the cargo bay doors as he glares at Steve. “I’m coming with you.”  
Steve shakes his head. Again. “No.”  
“I’ll wear gloves. I’ll wear a _hat_.”  
Steve swears softly. “You’re not stepping a foot on Asgard and that’s the end of it.”  
Sam comes out onto the landing, following the sound of the argument that has been echoing around the ship for the last ten minutes. Luis and Natasha are already there, leaning over the railing and watching the show. Clint is down on the floor below, trying to keep his head down while he gets the buggy set up.  
“Steve, c’mon. I need a new compression coil.”  
“We can’t afford one.”  
“I need to get supplies.”  
“Give Luis a list.”  
Buck lets his hands drop to his sides. “Just let me walk around for five minutes? I won’t even leave the docks, I won’t even leave the _ship_. I’ll keep one hand on the hull at all times, I swear.”  
Steve closes his eyes. He hates it when Buck starts pleading. “Can’t risk it.”  
Buck slumps back against the doors and refuses to meet Steve’s eye.  
“Look, pretty soon we’ll be on one of the outer moons, and then you can run around outside the ship all you want.”  
“Oh yeah, like on Londonium,” Buck counters, still prickly about that one.  
Steve pinches the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. “This is not up for discussion. You stay on the ship. You do not leave the ship for any reason. Is that understood?”  
Buck chews his lip. “Why don’t you save yourself the trouble and just stick me back in cold storage,” he growls, shoving his way past Steve and stomping up the stairs.  
“Bucky,” Steve calls after him, but he disappears down the corridor.  
“Fuck,” Steve sighs, pushing his hand through his hair.  
Luis gives Sam a sympathetic look before clattering down the stairs to join Steve. Natasha waits until he’s out of earshot. “You need a gun?”  
Sam frowns at her. “Nah, we’re good.”  
Natasha looks about ready to argue, but Sam shakes his head, and she heads downstairs to join the others.  
Luis sidles over to Steve, his head down, his voice low. “Look man, I know you’re just looking out for him but the guy is just feeling cooped up. Wants to get out, spread his wings, fly like-”  
“Luis,” Steve sighs.  
“And other, non-bird related metaphors,” Luis finishes.  
Steve turns away from him and punches the controls for the doors, turning to give a last glance to the upper level and seeing only Sam up there. Sam gives him a wave, and Steve drops his head and steps outside.

Like most of the outlier planets, Asgard has minimal SHIELD influence, but there was still a handful of black-clad Strike force operatives with their distinctive yellow shoulder patches circling the landing bays where the Kitsune was docked.  
Luis hunches his shoulders, shuffling behind Steve as he steps to one side as Clint steers the buggy down the ramp, pausing at the bottom and letting the engine idle.  
Natasha grabs Luis by the scruff and pulls him out into plain sight. “Quit acting like a petty thief.”  
Luis wriggles out of her grip and straightens his collar. “I am a petty thief.”  
“Yeah, but don’t act like one or you’ll get made,” she hisses. “Walk, don’t run. Relax your shoulders.”  
Luis tries to follow her instructions, but somehow manages to look worse.  
“Fine,” Natasha hisses as Steve goes off to sort out refuelling and pay the docking fee. “Tell me about this cousin of yours.”  
By the time Steve rejoins them, Luis is looking a lot more relaxed, while Natasha looks slightly murderous.  
Luis claps his hands together. “What’s first?”  
“First stop, we get a drink,” Steve tells him, watching a pair of Strike team members wander past.  
“For reals? Oh man, you guys are gonna love Ignacio-”  
“We’re not going to your cousin’s,” Steve cuts in before turning to Clint, handing him a fold of notes. “You go sort out water and batteries, get what you can.”  
Clint looks at the handful of money dubiously. “Where’s the rest of it.”  
Steve sighs. “That is the rest of it. Just… see what you can do, okay?”  
Clint salutes him. “Aye aye, Captain,” he guns the engine and speeds off, dodging the crowds of people milling around.  
Steve glances back at the ship, making sure the cargo bay doors are closed before leading them through the busy dockyard, passing stalls selling barbecued meat of dubious origin and street traders hawking their goods.  
“You want to fill us in, Cap?” Natasha asks as they pass an impromptu bareknuckle boxing ring scratched out in the dirt, the two opponents within it beating each other until the dirt is black with blood.  
“We’re going to Valhalla,” Steve answers as they move further from the crowded streets and deeper into the maze of warehouses that surrounds the docks.  
“What’s in Valhalla?” Luis asks, “Aside from getting our asses beat up. And probably barbecued.” Natasha glares at him. “What? I heard stories!”  
“A job,” Steve answers flatly. “There’s a job.”

Valhalla is a dive bar on the outskirts of the docklands. Dimly lit, with a sticky floor and clientele that glare as you walk through the door. Steve orders three whiskeys at the bar and leads the crew to an empty table at the back.  
“This place smells funny,” Luis whispers as they take their seats. “And not old lady funny either.”  
“Hush,” Steve murmurs.  
“I’m just sayin’, is all.” He grimaces as Steve puts a greasy shotglass of liquor in front of him. “Can I get a glass of rosé or something?”  
Natasha goes to push the glass of liquor closer to Luis, but it’s stuck to the table. Luis shakes his head and waves his hand at her, mouthing ‘I’m fine’.  
A large, heavyset man walks over to them, leaning down to rest his knuckles on the edge of the table.  
“I wouldn’t advise that, my friend-” Luis snaps his mouth shut when the man talks over him, eyes fixed on Steve.  
“Rogers, yes?” his thick Russian accent makes Natasha stiffen almost imperceptibly.  
“Who’s asking?” Steve sits up a little straighter.  
“Solohob.”  
“That your real name?” Natasha spits out.  
He leers at her. “It’s the name I’m giving you.”  
The man pulls up a seat and makes himself comfortable, levering Luis’ glass of whisky off the table and swallowing it in a single gulp.  
“Go right ahead, brah,” Luis mutters.  
Solohob smacks his lips noisily. “I am here on behalf of my employer, he has heard many things about you. They say Steve Rogers gets the job done, and my employer has a lot of work for a dependable man” He shrugs. “But these are just words, so he requires a demonstration.”  
Solohob reaches into his pocket and pulls out a slip of paper. He tucks it into the shot glass and pushes it over to Steve.  
“What’s this?” Steve doesn’t touch the offered slip.  
“A test,” Solohob grins, displaying rows of sharp, white teeth. “A simple test. Pick up the cargo, deliver the cargo, get paid handsomely, now and in future endeavors.”  
Steve purses his lips, and Natasha plucks the paper out of the glass. “And who are we working for?”  
“Luchkov.”  
Natasha doesn’t have many tells, so when her fingers twitch slightly, barely crumpling the paper in her hand, Steve gets to his feet. “We’ll be in touch,” he says, waving to Luis and Natasha to follow him.  
“Are you accepting the job, Rogers?” Solohob asks.  
“We’ll be in touch,” Steve calls over his shoulder, pushing his crewmen towards the door.

Steve leads the way through the maze of warehouses, keeping a wary eye out for anyone following.  
“Can one of you two clue me into what the hell is going on,” Luis calls out, lagging behind.  
Steve comes to a halt and turns to Natasha. “Good question.”  
She hesitates, glancing around before speaking. “Georgi Luchkov. I never worked for him personally but… Madame did. He had a reputation.”  
“What kind of reputation?” Steve pulls the paper out of her unresisting hand.  
“He’s a sadist. Deals mainly in contraband, but has a side business in extortion and protection rackets.”  
Steve nods. “So he’s looking for us to smuggle some goods for him.” He unfolds the paper and reads through it. “Pick up from Lumeria and drop off at Dacha. Shouldn’t take more than a day or so.”  
Natasha snatches at the instructions, but Steve shoves them in his trouser pocket. “You’re not seriously considering it? Steve, the man is a psychopath.”  
“It’s a simple job,” Steve says placatingly.  
“There’s other jobs out there, we can try-”  
“What?!” Steve snaps, and Natasha freezes. “We can try what? We’ve had nothing but salvage and two-bit delivery jobs for months now.” He takes a breath and tries to calm his temper. “If we don’t work, we don’t get paid. We don’t get paid, we can’t fuel the ship, which leaves us adrift.” He waits for the words to sink in. “So we’re taking the job. End of discussion”

They walk in silence through the busy streets. Steve takes his last few notes out of his pocket, peels off one and hands the rest over to Luis.  
“Here, whatever we need. Need, that is, don’t get any ideas.”  
Luis holds up the three crumpled notes and gives Steve an incredulous look, but keeps his mouth shut, gives a sloppy little salute and wanders off.  
Steve turns to Natasha, but she mutters something about going to find Clint and stalks off.  
He lets her go, and wanders around the street market for a while, killing time before returning to the ship. He looks over the trinkets on sale, little automata made out of pieces of cut-up tin cans and figures made out of scraps of metal. He picks up a snow globe made out of a jam jar, a little figure made of twisted wire sticking up from the glued-on lid. He gives it a shake and watches the figure disappear in a snowstorm, then remembers Buck’s comment about being put on ice and puts it down again.  
At another stall he settles on a wax-sealed pot of berry jam, handing over his coin and tucking it into his pocket.

When he gets back to the ship, Luis is already on board helping Buck move the battery packs to the Engine room. Clint and Natasha are nowhere to be seen, so Steve stows away the barrels of water while Luis takes the handful of supplies he bought up to the Galley.  
No actual coffee, but something he swears is half as good, along with sugar, salt and a box of misshapen vegetables.  
Steve checks everything is in order before makes his way up to the bridge.  
After a moment of hesitation, he sends confirmation to Solohob, along with an ETA for arrival at Lumeria. He waits for confirmation, then crosses the length of the ship to the Engine room.

He finds Buck checking the systems, a path has been cleared of spare parts and debris across the Engine room floor.  
“Hey, Buck,” he calls softly.  
Buck glances up and gives him a sheepish little smile. “Hey, Stevie. So we’re going to Lumeria?”  
Steve nods and shoves his hand in his pocket, pulling out the little pot. It sits neatly in the palm of his hand, little blue flowers painted around the outside, and he holds it out. “I got you something.”  
Buck sidles closer, reaching out to snatch the pot out of his hand and going over to sit on his pile of blankets under the reactor. He turns the jar around in his hands and then digs a fingernail into the wax seal and pops it loose. He holds the disc up to the light, then sticks it in his mouth.  
“No, wait,” Steve says, taking a step forward. “You don’t eat that bit.”  
Bucky spits out the wax into the palm of his hand with a grimace. Steve squats down in front of him and points to the pot.  
“You eat that,” he explains, then winces as Buck sticks two fingers in the jam, scooping some out and sticking them in his mouth. “Don’t eat with your fingers,” he sighs.  
Buck grins at him, then scrapes out some more from the pot, sucking his fingers clean.  
“Buck, c’mon. You’ll give yourself a bellyache.”  
Buck licks a spot of jam off his knuckle and offers the pot to Steve. He shakes his head, watching as Buck finishes the rest of the little pot, poking his tongue in it to make sure he’s gotten every last trace of jam.  
Steve sits down opposite him, resting his back against the heat exchanger. “You still mad at me, Bucky?”  
Buck wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Nah, just. I don’t know. Itchy feet, I guess.”  
He sits back, stretching his legs out across the floor and knocks Steve’s boots with his patched canvas trainers. Steve shifts his position, straightening out his legs and pressing the soles of his boots to the worn rubber of Buck’s shoes. Buck pushes back, and Steve smiles, small and warm.  
“How are the twins?”  
“The boy woke up, only for a minute though,” Bucky turns the pot around in his metal fingers. “Looked at his sister and said ‘Wanda’, then went back to sleep.”  
“Wanda?” Steve hums.  
“Yeah. Sam says it’s a good sign. People don’t usually wake up from these things right away.” Buck shoves the pot in one the pockets of his work pants. “She’ll get past it, y’know. It’s just a bit too close to home for her.”  
Steve almost misses the subject change. “Yeah, Nat doesn’t care much for the Russians.”  
“They had me for a while, didn’t they?”  
Steve straightens up. “You remember something?”  
Buck twists his mouth into a grimace. “No, but she worked for them, didn’t she? That’s where she knows me from.”  
Steve folds his hands across his stomach. “Only by reputation.”  
Buck snorts. “Well, no wonder she wants to shoot me.”  
Steve closes his eyes and lets his head fall back, hitting the heat exchanger with a dull thump. “She’s been strongly advised against shooting you or any other crew member. Even Luis.”  
“Even Clint?”  
Steve shrugs. “If it’s a work thing, no shooting. If it’s a marriage thing, I’m staying well out of it.”  
Buck gives his foot a nudge. “Come on,” he says, his voice warm and full of affection. “Luis says he’s got us some mediocre not-coffee.”  
Steve grumbles, but lets Buck pull him to his feet and hustle him out to the Galley.

The not-coffee is passable, and Steve drinks a cup while sitting at the table, chopping carrots under the watchful eye of Luis. Buck sits next to him, dicing up some nutrient bar and sipping at his own cupful.  
Clint and Natasha show up a half hour before they’re due to leave Asgard. Neither volunteer where they’re been, and Steve doesn’t ask. Clint gives Natasha a kiss on the cheek and heads up to the bridge. He buckles himself into the pilot seat and starts launch procedures, alerting the crew to take-off before getting the ship into orbit. After a few minutes in the air, he opens a private channel to Steve and lets him know that a course has been plotted for Lemuria.  
Natasha sits at the dining table and cleans her extensive collection of guns while Luis makes chilli, and Steve tries not to read anything into it. He’s pretty sure that it’s not directed towards Buck, who is in the Infirmary with Sam, so she’s probably making a point to him. Damned if he knows what it is, other than the usual ‘You’re being an idiot, Steve’.  
She clears her cache away in time for dinner, and they sit around the table eating chilli and carefully not discussing the Russian job. Instead they share news and gossip they’d all heard around town, while Sam updates the rest of the crew on the twins’ progress.  
When the last of the chilli is eaten, Steve volunteers to do the dishes. Clint grizzles quietly to himself about it but goes back up to the bridge to play cards and make sure the autopilot doesn’t send them off to the edge of space or something. After a minute Natasha decides to join him. 

Buck gives Steve a hand with the dishes, then heads over to the Infirmary. Sam has a dorm right next door, but Buck volunteers to keep an eye on things while he gets some sleep. He trusts Sam completely, but the twins… they make something itch at the back of his thoughts, so he cracks open the book Steve had picked up for him the last time they were on Manhattan.  
“Alright,” he tells the sleepers. “‘Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea’, by Jules Verne. Because Steve thinks he’s so damned smart.” He snorts to himself and flicks through several pages of notes and acknowledgements at the front of the book.  
“Okay. The year 1866 was marked by a strange event, an unexplained and inexplicable occurrence that doubtless no one has yet forgotten…”  
He reads slowly, stumbling occasionally on the old Earth-that-was language and the sentences that go on _forever_ , describing ships encountering a strange sea-monster in dry, meandering prose.  
There is a soft sound, and he looks up to see the boy stirring. Buck marks his page with a thumb and sits up.  
“Hey, kid,” he murmurs as the boy opens his eyes. “It’s okay, you’re fine.”  
He puts the book to one side and comes over to the gurney. The boy sees his metal arm and his eyes widen. “ _Soldier_ ,” he whimpers  
“Hey, it’s okay,” Buck soothes. “It ain’t like that.”  
The boy turns to look over at his sister. “We found you on a derelict, brought you onto our ship,” Buck explains, watching him closely.  
“A ship,” the boy murmurs, his accent heavy and lilting.  
Buck nods. “Yup. Cargo vessel, Foxfire class. Crew of six, all reprobates and outlaws, ‘cept for the Captain.”  
The boy looks down at Buck’s metal arm, then back up to his face. Something there seems to reassure him, and the tension starts to ebb away from his features. He still clutches handfuls of the blanket covering him, his shoulders taut.  
“You can call me Buck. You got a name, kid?”  
The boy nods. “Pietro.” He turns to his sister. “Is she..?”  
“She’s doing good, should wake up soon. You’re just a little faster.”  
The boy coughs out a startled laugh, and Buck fetches him a cup of water.  
“Here,” he says, helping the boy sit up and drink. When he’s sure the kid can safely hold the cup unaided, Buck checks on the med scanner, pulling it around so the kid can see.  
“You’re in the Infirmary, and this is the medical scanner. Non-invasive, you know what that means?” The kid nods, biting the rim of his plastic cup. “This is you, this is your sister,” Buck points to the two outlines on the display. “Body temperature, heart rate, blood pressure, blood oxygen levels,” he points to each column on the girl’s side of the screen. “Green is good, yellow is when you worry, red is when you panic and go get Sam. He’s the doc.” He glances at the girl. “She’s good, had us worried awhile there, but she’s doing good. But you, kid, your blood pressure and heart rate are a little high.” Buck taps to where the boy’s vitals read yellow. “If they get red, Sam will make a fuss. So don’t let them get red, okay?”  
The kid nods, still chewing on his plastic cup.  
“You think you can eat something?” The boy nods and Buck opens one of the cupboards lining the room. “Sam said to give you a rice cracker if you felt up to it.” He pulls a foil wrapped packet out of a box and tears it open, pulling out a thin, white disc and handing it over. “Tastes like shit, though. Was all they let me eat for, like, a week when I first come out of the cold.”  
Pietro pulls the cup away from his mouth and nibbles warily on the cracker. Buck sets the remaining cracker on the edge of the bed. Banana flavour printed in black across the foil. The sight of it stirs a flash of memory, of his first days out of cryo, Steve unwrapping a packet of rice crackers and breaking them in half. Dry like dust in his mouth, but he still ate the pieces offered. _Strawberry_ , Steve had told him. _They’re supposed to taste like strawberries._

Steve is lying on his bunk pretending to sleep when Buck opens a private channel on the comms.  
“Hey, Stevie. You awake?”  
He opens his eyes and looks up at the ductwork overhead. “No.”  
He hears Buck snort, and a murmur of another voice, low and strangely accented. “Well, when you do wake up, come meet Pietro.”  
There is a soft click of the channel closing, and Steve sits up with a groan. He picks his pants up off the floor and pulls them on, though he puts on a fresh shirt, bundling his old one up and tossing it into the laundry. He washes his face and heads over to the Infirmary, scrubbing his hand through his hair.  
He finds Buck and the boy sitting side by side on the gurney eating rice cakes and talking softly. Buck glances up at Steve and grins, bright and guileless. He taps the boy on the shoulder with the back of his hand.  
“Pietro, this is Captain. Steve, this here is Pietro.”  
The boy raises his half eaten rice cracker nervously, and Steve nods to him.  
“Good to see you up,” Steve says gently. “You feel up to talking?”  
Pietro looks at Buck, who nods reassuringly, before speaking. “I guess.”  
“Can you remember what happened?” Buck frowns at him, but doesn’t comment.  
“I remember a room,” Pietro says slowly. “Tests. Needles.” He looks over at his sister.  
“Do you know what they were doing?”  
The boy shakes his head. “They said they were making us better. But… Hurt. They hurt us.”  
Buck rests the palm of his hand between the boy's shoulders, murmuring softly.  
“Do you know where your parents are? Where we could find them?” Steve asks.  
Pietro sets his rice cracker down on the bed. “Don’t remember them. Only family I ever had was my sister.”  
Steve rubs a hand across his mouth. “Alright. You got any questions?”  
“Yes,” Pietro says quickly. “Where are you taking us?”  
“Well, in a few hours we’ll be in Lemuria, picking up cargo for delivery. After that,” Steve shrugs. “We go where the work is.”  
“But what about us?” Pietro twists his fingers into the blanket wrapped around him.  
“Well, we can drop you off at Lumeria with a few supplies if that’s what you want. Wouldn’t recommend it, the place is pretty backwards, and terraforming didn’t take well there. You can scratch out a living but, there are better places you could go.” He looks briefly at Buck. “I’m guessing that whoever left you on that ship didn’t want you to be found, might make a fuss if you show up again.”  
Pietro nods, plucking at his blanket silently.  
“Well, with Buck here we’ve found the best way to not be found is keep moving,” he gives the kid a crooked smile. “And we never stop moving.”

They reach Lumeria on schedule, and Clint lands the ship in an abandoned quarry near the coordinates given to them by Solohob, a patch of dirt north of nowhere.  
“What the hell is this place,” Clint mutters as he shuts down the engines.  
“Badlands, man,” Luis shrugs. “When you terraform each planet acts kinda different, some places it don’t stick so well. My cousin Julio was working the oil fields on one of the moons around Washington, and they found this pocket of natural gas. Poisonous though, like crazy deadly, melt-your-face-off poisonous, so he figured best thing to do was burn it off, threw a match in there and whoomp! Up it goes.” Luis laughs, “And it kept on going, this huge badass crater of fire, y’know? Julio got so fired though.”  
“How is this relevant?” Natasha snaps.  
Luis grins at her. “Each planet got its quirks. The only reason they stuck with the terraform here is cause of all the shit they can mine, lithium, gold, that kind of thing? Don’t matter how bad the conditions are for the workers, so long as they get the goods.”  
Steve bites his lip. “Alright. Luis, you’re with me. The rest of you stay on the ship,” he holds a hand up to the mutter of complaints. “We collect the cargo and get out of here, the sooner the better.”

Luis powers up the buggy while Steve opens the cargo bay doors, and trundles down the ramp, the wheels throwing up clouds of red dust when he hits the planet surface. Steve shields his eyes with a cupped hand and waits for him to come to a halt.  
“Sorry, Cap!” Luis calls out, and slaps the seat next to him.  
Steve climbs into the passenger seat, screwing his eyes shut as Luis guns the engine, spraying grit and dust behind them and following Steve’s directions to the meeting point.  
In the end the directions aren’t really necessary, and instructions to just circle the planet until they spotted a bored looking Russian next to a shipping container would have been just as effective.  
“These guys ain’t subtle,” Luis shouts over the engine as they pull up.  
The man stalks over to the buggy. “Rogers?” he spits.  
Steve nods, and the man turns away before he can say anything more. He climbs out of the buggy and follows the man to the container, watching as he types in a code into the control panel on the doors.  
“One item for delivery to Dacha,” the man announces, keying in a final sequence that locks the control panel down. “You will deliver the item in the condition you received it. You will not open the item. Is that understood?”  
Steve frowns, but nods in agreement. At that the man turns and starts to walk away without a glance back. Steve turns to Luis, who gives an open armed shrug.  
“Alright, let’s get it back to the ship.”  
Between them they winch the cargo onto the flatbed trailer on the back of the buggy, strapping it into place. It’s larger than Steve had expected, around seven feet in height and width, and almost twice that in length.  
“This whole thing seem sketchy to you?” Luis asks as he straps himself into the driver's seat. “This whole deal is bugging me out man, it’s beyond creepifying.”  
“Yeah,” Steve murmurs. “C’mon, let’s get this over with.”  
Luis starts the engine, and the buggy grinds into life. “Dust,” he calls over the engines howl. “Gets into everything.”  
They follow their tracks back to the ship, and Steve climbs out to guide Luis as he reverses up the ramp, maneuvering the container into the far corner of the Cargo Bay.  
The ships comms suddenly open up, and the Kitsune is filled with the echoes of Wanda screaming.

“Sam!” Steve roars, pounding along the catwalk to the Infirmary. “What the hell is going on?”  
There is clattering and muffled noises over the comms, then Sam’s voice. “She just started freaking out.” Glass breaking, screaming.  
“When did she wake up?” he runs past the dorms.  
“She didn’t. It was like flicking a switch, one minute unconscious, the next screaming the whole damn ship down.”  
Steve reaches the Infirmary to find it in chaos, gurneys overturned and the med scanner shattered. Every cupboard door in the room is buckled and twisted, doors hanging off their hinges. Sam is hunched up by the door, bleeding from several cuts across his face.  
In the far corner Buck is curled up on the floor, wedged up against the wall, Wanda in his arms. Pietro is plastered to her back, his arms around her waist, his face pressed between her shoulders. He’s singing, breathless and panicked and stuttering, in a language Steve doesn’t recognise. The words are garbled as he chokes back tears. The girl's eyes are tinged with red, her mouth slack. Buck’s metal fingers tangled in her rust-red hair, his flesh and blood hand on the boys shoulder.  
At the sight of Steve she clamps her mouth shut, and the room falls silent.

Steve takes a moment to breathe, and turns to Sam. “Go get cleaned up,” he says quietly.  
Sam touches two fingers to his chin and they come away wet. “The med scanner. It… exploded. I wasn’t even touching it.”  
Steve drops a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “Go get cleaned up, get yourself some coffee.”  
Sam nods dumbly, and grabs a medpack from one of the cupboards, pausing to stare at its warped door before retreating to his dorm.  
Steve takes a wary step towards the three curled up together on the floor. “Buck?”  
Buck looks up at him, his face pale. “Somethin’ bad, Stevie.”  
“Never seen the stars,” Wanda whispers, her voice low. “They hardly seen the sun.”  
Buck shushes her, rubbing his fingers in tiny circles. The girl blinks. Green eyes, Steve thinks to himself.  
“Pietro,” she whimpers, and the boys tightens his grip around her waist.  
_“Malá sestra_ ,” he answers, his voice muffled against her skin.  
Buck breathes out, slow and exhausted. “Everybody okay?” his voice catches.  
The girl raises her head and stares at Steve. He feels an odd, tugging sensation behind his eyes, a pressure.  
_Artillery fire. “Luis, where is the goddamn air support?”  
“They ain’t coming,” Luis hunched over the radio, shaking his head. “We’re supposed to lay down arms. Surrender.”  
The valley below burns, embers floating up like fireflies._  
The girl presses her cheek to Buck’s chest and listens to his heart beating, and nods.  
“Pietro?” Buck asks. The boy nods.  
“We’re safe,” he whispers to his sister. “We’re on a ship.”  
She cocks her head, listening intently. “Foxfire class transport ship. Standard radion/accelerator core. Registration B-0217901.”  
Steve feels his knees give way, and sits down on the debris strewn Infirmary floor before he falls down. “Yeah,” he says weakly. “That’s… how do you know that?”  
She stares at him, unblinking. “She told me.”  
“Okay,” Steve says dumbly. “That’s not weird.”

Steve rubs a hand over his mouth.  
“Buck, you want to get them set up in one of the dorms?”  
“Yeah,” Buck murmurs. “C’mon, let’s get you cleaned up.”  
Buck gets to his feet, a little unsteady, and helps Wanda and Pietro up. He rests a hand on Steve’s shoulder and give a light squeeze.  
Steve pats his hand. “I’m fine,” he reassures. “Uh. Nat left a few things for her. Clothes. In your dorm.”  
Buck nods, and pulls his hand away, his fingers brushing against Steve’s cheek. “Luis gave me a few things for Pietro, so he’s spared Clint’s Hawaiian shirts, at least.”  
Steve snorts, and Buck leads the twins away, giving him one last worried look before directing them down the catwalk to the dorms.  
Steve opens a comm link to Clint. “Get us up in the air.”  
There is a hiss of static. “Sure thing, Cap. There’s a storm picking up, so. Y’know. Turbulence.”  
“Got it.”  
Steve closes the channel and looks at the wreckage strewn around him. He snorts to himself, _Turbulence._  
He clears up the mess in the Infirmary as best he can. He picks up the gurneys and sweeps up the glass, and doesn’t ask himself how a hundred and twenty pound girl could have done so much damage.  
“We’re en route, Cap,” Clint calls over the comms. “Should be there in about five hours.”  
“Got it,” Steve murmurs, and goes to check on Sam.

“Uhh. Steve?” Buck calls over a private channel.  
Steve is sat in the Galley with Sam, drinking mediocre coffee.  
“Damn it,” Steve mutters. “What?”  
“Don’t freak out, okay?”  
Steve closes his eyes and slumps back in his chair. “Spit it out, Buck.”  
“I’ve lost Wanda.”  
Sam chokes on his mediocre coffee.  
“Where are you?” Steve asks, getting to his feet.  
“Engine room, I was giving them the tour.”  
Steve rubs his eyes and calls out to the rest of the ship. “Okay, Wanda has gotten herself lost. Anyone seen her?”  
A chorus of negatives filter back to him. _Damnit._  
“Clint, you check the Bridge, work your way around the head. Nat, you check the neck, see that she’s not in the air conditioning or poking around the auxiliary tanks.”  
Steve waits for her response, then turns to Sam. “You check the dorms.”  
Sam nods, and swallows the last of his coffee before heading out.  
“Buck, you and Pietro work your way to the Cargo Bay, I’ll check storage.”

There’s no sign of Wanda in storage, or the dorms. Steve works his way through the ship, hearing his crew call out an all clear one by one.  
“Steve, she’s in the Cargo Bay,” Buck announces.  
Steve breathes out a sigh of relief. “Good, get her back to the dorm. We don’t want her running around when we get to Dacha.”  
He hears Buck clear his throat. “You’d better get down here.”  
Steve takes the stairs two at a time, reaching the Cargo Bay to find Buck sitting on the floor with Pietro.  
“What’s going on?” Steve asks.  
Buck silently points to the shipping container they collected from Lemuria. Wanda is pressed up against the side of it, speaking to it in a low, urgent tone.  
Both twins have changed out of the grey scrubs they had been wearing since their rescue, and Wanda plucks at her red shirt absently, shredding the fabric around the cuffs.  
Steve can make out the odd words, a story about a man made of stone, his chest cracked open.  
He walks slowly towards the girl, keeping in her line of sight.  
“Wanda,” he calls softly. “What are you doing?”  
She pauses and looks up at him. “They’re scared. I’m telling them a story.”  
He hears Buck slowly get to his feet.  
“Who’s scared?” Steve asks slowly. “Who are you talking to?”  
Wanda looks at him like he’s an idiot. “The girls.”  
“What?” Steve’s voice comes out a whisper.  
Buck takes a step closer, staring at the container, and walks over to the control panel.  
“Buck,” Steve calls sharply.  
Buck glances at him, then turns back to the panel and forces his metal hand into the controls, flinching as it fizzes and sprays out sparks. He twists his wrist, and the heavy doors at the front swing open.  
Wanda peers through the open doors and turns to Steve with a smile. “See?”

_Steve raises his hands above his head. “We don’t want any trouble.”  
The Russian laughs and waves his gun, turning to his partner. She ignores him, keeping her weapon trained on Steve despite the wind whipping at her flame-red hair.  
“Davai nam duraka,” the man shouts, turning back to Clint.  
“What are they saying?” Steve hisses to Clint.  
Clint ignores him in favour of grinning at the woman. “Hey there,” he says cheerfully.  
“Tikho,” the man snaps.  
“You got a name?” Clint asks, his hands on his head. “C’mon, if you’re gonna shoot me, you can at least tell me your name.”  
“Clint, what the hell is going on?” Steve hisses.  
“Ah. Right,” Clint looks sheepish. “I may have stolen some credits. From some guys who might want them back. And by ‘some’ I mean,” Clint laughs. “A lot. A LOT. And by ‘guys’ I mean ‘Russians’. Aaaand by ‘want back’ I mean ‘rip off my arm and beat me to death with the wet end’.”  
The woman’s mouth twitches.  
“You stole credits. From the Russians? Are you stupid?” Steve hisses.  
“Well, yeah. That’s what ‘duraka’ means, don’t it miss?” He gives the woman his most charming smile. “It means dumbass, right?”  
The woman nods, the corner of her mouth curling up.  
“Since when do you have credits, we’re broke!” Steve growls.  
“Laura. My sister? Her youngest got sick, she needed the money.”  
Steve bites back a curse. “You should’ve told me, we could have figured something out.”  
Clint shakes his head. “And we’d both be hunted down by Russian hitmen,” he glances at the woman. “Ladies. Hitladies.”  
“Natasha,” the woman says abruptly, looking almost as shocked as Clint does.  
“Natasha,” he repeats. “Beautiful.”  
Her eyes flick downwards.  
Clint turns to Steve. “You know, we’d never have gotten into this mess if we had a badass on the crew.”  
“We’ve got Luis.”  
Clint gives him an incredulous look. “Luis is a little puppy-dog.”  
Steve opens his mouth to argue, then nods. “Yeah. He is a little puppy-dog.”  
Clint turns to Natasha. “How much do they pay you?”  
The man waves his gun between Clint and Steve. “Zatknis,” he yells.  
Natasha tilts her head to one side. “5%.”  
Clint barks out a laugh, then covers his mouth with his hand. “Sorry! Sorry. Cap, that seem a little low to you?”  
Steve shrugs. “I’m thinking I pay you too much.”  
“How much do you pay him?” Natasha asks.  
“20%,” Steve answers honestly.  
“Plus I get my own dorm,” Clint adds. “And meals. Luis is a pretty good cook.”  
“Your own room?”  
“Molchi!” the man yells.  
Steve nods. “Sure, but these are just the basics. You've got your own room with these guys, right? Probably a bunch of other perks too.”  
She shakes her head.  
Steve glances back at the Kitsune behind them. “Plenty of room on her, and work for a decent gunhand.”  
Clint holds his hands over his head and flexes. “I can be a perk,” he adds.  
Natasha snorts and swings her gun around to the man stood next to her.  
“Ya brosu,” she tells him, and pulls the trigger._

Buck takes Wanda and Pietro back to his dorm room with packets of rice crackers and bottles of water. He teaches them how to open the comms and leaves them with instructions to call him or any other member of the crew if they need anything before rejoining the others.  
Luis collects up all the spare clothes and blankets he can find on the ship, and takes the girls down to the empty passenger dorms near the Engine room. He fusses over them, making sure they’re warm and fed before getting them settled.  
Steve calls the rest of the crew to the Galley and passes out cups of mediocre coffee as they take their seats around the table.  
“How many,” Sam asks, his voice unsteady.  
“Twelve,” Buck answers when Steve can’t, fidgeting restlessly with a pack of old playing cards.  
Twelve, and not a one of them old as Wanda. The sight of them in that container, barely room enough to stand, let alone raise their arms, was not going to leave Steve any time soon.  
“What are we gonna do?” Clint asks. “Luchkov is expecting us in three hours with his cargo.”  
“They ain’t cargo,” Buck snaps. He shuffles the deck, flipping over the top card and staring at it. “People ain’t cargo.”  
Steve nods. “We can’t take them to Dacha, that’s for sure.”  
“If we don’t, Luchkov will come after us,” Natasha tells them. She’s hunched up in her chair, her boots resting on the seat of Clint’s chair next to her. “He’ll want reimbursement for his lost goods.”  
“They ain’t goods!” Buck snarls, flipping over another card.  
Steve holds up a placating hand. “We got no money up front. He doesn’t get his cargo, we don’t get any money.”  
Natasha shakes her head. “He won’t see it that way Steve, he’ll see it as a debt to be paid.”  
Steve leans his elbows on the table, folding his hands under his chin. “Well then we’ll deal with it. In the meantime we’ve got a dozen kids who need a place to go.”  
Clint frowns. “Fourteen, isn’t it? Twelve girls and the twins.”  
“The twins stay.”  
Sam flinches. “What?”  
“We pulled them out of an abandoned science vessel, they were left for dead” Buck points out. “You don’t think that it will call attention if they’re seen running around, very much alive?”  
“We don’t know what happened to them on that ship,” Sam adds. “Is it safe for them to even be here?”  
“The girl knew what was in that crate,” Clint says. “That’s kinda weird.”  
“Her name is Wanda,” Buck says quietly.  
“She wrecked the Infirmary,” Sam blurts out. “I don’t know how. She didn’t touch anything, but the gurneys flipped over and the medscanner shattered. The cabinets damn near twisted themselves off the walls.”  
The room falls silent.  
“What are you saying?” Steve turns to Sam.  
“I’m saying she did all that without moving. She just… clenched up her hands and it happened.”  
Steve turns to Buck. “Bucky?”  
He twists his mouth, turns the cards in his hands. “That’s what I saw.”  
Sam sits back, vindicated.  
“So she’s what? Telekinetic?” Clint looks doubtful.  
“Psychokinesis,” Sam corrects him.  
“Still,” Clint frowns. “It’s all a bit… science fiction.”  
“Sweetheart, you live on a spaceship,” Natasha murmurs.  
Steve slumps back in his seat. “Whatever she is, they’re staying,” he gives Buck a lopsided smile. “They’ve got nowhere else to go.”  
“But what about the girls?” Natasha taps her fingers on the table. “Sanctuary?”  
Clint sucks air between his teeth. “Too far. Not got enough fuel to get there.”  
“Triskelion?” Sam offers.  
Steve shakes his head. “Too close to _Oborotni_ territory, can’t risk it.”  
Sam snorts. “Oborotni are a myth.”  
“No they’re not,” Clint says says, his mouth a grim line.  
Buck sits up. “Nowhere,” he says quietly.  
Steve looks around the table, watching as each of his crew think it over and, one by one, call in favour. “That’s settled,” he says. “Nowhere.”  
Buck picks up a card from the top of his deck and turns it over. On a private channel Wanda hums to herself.  
“Seven of clubs.”  
He turns over another card.  
“Ten of hearts.”  
He turns over another card.  
“Two of diamonds.”


	4. Wrecked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Dead in the water,” Wanda murmurs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I couldn't write a Firefly au without including an 'Out of Gas' chapter. Or a reference to Jaynes very fine hat.
> 
> Thanks as ever to Krycekasks for hand holding and enthusiasm, and for the ever fabulous Eidheann for kicking the words into shape.
> 
> Also, check out the ADORABLE art from the wonderful [Frau-Argh](http://frau-argh.tumblr.com)

It takes three days to reach Nowhere, an Abbey on one of the moons of Lagos.  
With some negotiation and calling in of favours, Steve manages to fanangle a place for the girls. Working the land is not an easy life, but they’ll have a roof over their heads and food on the table. Not much, but enough to get by.  
Steve isn’t sorry to see them go, though he knows how fond Luis has become of them, fretting over them and making them promise to keep in touch, before returning to the ship.  
Steve takes one look at his solemn-faced crew and tells Clint to plot a course for the Boot.

“You think they’ll be okay?” Luis frets as he sets the table for dinner, shooing Steve out of his way. Steve picks his slate up from the table and keeps scrolling through the wave, looking through the jobs listed with a frown. Luis puts a plate in front of him and moves on.  
“They’ll be fine,” Buck prods at his stew and adds a handful of oregano. “Whatever happens to them now will be a hell of a lot better than what was gonna happen.”  
Luis nods pensively, setting a jug of water on the table and tearing open a sachet of Nutrient. He sprinkles it into the water and gives it a quick swirl.  
“Fucking nutch water. This shit never dissolves properly, man. Always grit and shit at the bottom.”  
“Beats getting scurvy,” Buck counters. “Or beriberi.”  
“Or that thing that makes you a vampire.”  
Buck snorts, glancing up as Clint and Natasha come in and take their seats at the table.  
“Should be at the Boot in an hour, folks,” Clint says, taking a seat opposite Steve.  
“Okay, good,” Steve doesn’t look up from the slate.  
“What’s the Boot?”  
They all turn to the doorway, where Pietro is standing with Wanda, his hands resting on her shoulders, wary and defensive.  
“It’s a bazaar, a waystation orbiting Kyln,” Clint reaches out for the bowl of bread rolls that Luis is placing on the table, only to get swatted at. “Ow.”  
“Off the _bolillo_ , man! You brought up in a barn or somethin’?”  
“Kyln is one of the outlier moons, has a penal colony on it. The Boot is like a marketplace. Fuel, supplies, shady business transactions,” Natasha gives Buck a sour look. “Plus side shows and attractions to part imbeciles from their money.”  
Bucky grins and points his spoon at her. “I seem to recall you forking over eight bits to see a dead alien too.”  
Clint brightens up. “Oh yeah, that thing was disgusting! And they got Orloni racing!”  
“And ponchiki!” Luis adds. He waves the twins over to the table, pulling out two of the chairs. “Seriously guys, you are gonna be totally in love with this place. The traders are legit too, you know what I’m sayin’? Gotta be ‘cause if they’re caught pulling a number then it’s out the airlock an-”  
“Luis,” Buck says softly, bringing the pot of stew over to the table, setting it down on a folded cloth in the middle. He rests a his flesh hand on the back of Pietro’s head. “You’ll be fine, okay? Stick with me or Luis, and don’t go wandering off.”  
“We don’t have any money,” Pietro mumbles.  
“I could get money,” Wanda offers, and Buck shakes his head sharply.  
Sam comes into the galley and takes a seat, and Steve is immeasurably grateful that he takes a chair next to the twins, Pietro giving him a nod in greeting while Wanda hides behind her curtain of hair, muttering indistinctly.  
Steve watches the exchange and smiles to himself as Luis starts serving up, giving the twins a small portion each with instructions to eat slowly.  
Buck picks up a bread roll and breaks it into pieces. “Any work?” he asks Steve softly.  
Steve accepts his portion for Luis with a thanks. “Maybe, sent out a few enquiries, we’ll see what comes up.”  
“What was it Luis got us last time?” Clint scoops up a spoonful of stew and chews.  
“Bobblehead dolls,” Luis smiles as he takes his seat. “They were cute.”  
“Yes, we really are hardened criminals,” Natasha prods at a chunk of protein. “The great bobblehead doll caper.”  
“Hey, it was lucrative,” Steve gives Luis a nod. “A damn good score.”  
“Thanks, Cap!” Luis raises his glass in salute.

They eat quickly, and Clint heads back to the bridge to take care of docking procedures. No one would ever dare to ask Natasha to clean up, and Steve is busy looking for work, so Sam asks the twins to help out. Or rather Pietro helps while Wanda follows, watching him clean dishes curiously while Sam dries and puts things away.  
Despite his attention being on the wave, Steve keeps half an eye on the twins. Sam doesn’t seem to begrudge Wanda for what happened in the Infirmary, and Clint and Natasha seem to get along with them well enough.  
Buck sits next to Steve, watching the twins and not drinking the rest of his nutrient. The sole of one trainer resting on top of Steve’s booted foot, applying the slightest amount of pressure. A message pops up on the wave and Steve opens it, frowning as he scans through the data.  
“Got something?” Buck presses a little more firmly on his boot.  
“Yeah, delivery to Morag.” Steve scrolls through the message. “Nothing fancy, machine parts.”  
“Isn’t most of that place underwater?” Sam calls out from by the sink.  
Buck frowns and sits up, pulling his foot away from Steves.  
“What’s wrong?” Steve asks warily, watching as Buck pours some of his nutch onto the table. He swipes the water in a shallow curve, then adds a splotch of water on the far side. On the nearside of the curve, by Steve’s hand, he puts his empty glass.  
“So this is the Boot,” he touches a fingertip to the glass. “And this is Morag,” he puts his finger in the puddle of water slowly soaking into the table. “And this…” He sweeps his hand through the damp curve.  
“Oborotni territory,” Steve sighs.  
Sam dries off his hands and comes over to join them.  
Natasha looks up from the book she’s reading, and leans across the table. She puts her finger into the curve and swipes it in a wider arc. “Their territory is expanding every year,” she explains.  
Steve nods. “Okay, so we go around.”  
Sam draws a large ellipse across the table, one edge drawing close to the Oborotni curve. “SHIELD territory. We’d be on their long range scanners.”  
Steve swears under his breath. “We can’t risk being spotted.” He points to the curve. “What’s past this?”  
Natasha extends the curve into a full circle. “They’re expanding out from the planet Siberia here,” she taps the middle of the circle.  
“And what’s around here,” Steve gestures to the space beyond the circle.  
“A few abandoned planets where terraforming didn’t take. A couple of SHIELD vessels patrolling the edge, but they’ll have minimum crew. If any of the moons were inhabitable they would have cleared out as the Oborotni spread outwards.” Sam gestures vaguely beyond the circle.  
“That’s settled then,” Steve sits back. “We go around.”  
“It’ll take a week or more,” Buck frowns. “We’ll be in dead space.”  
Steve shrugs. “You got a better idea?”  
After a moment, Buck shakes his head.  
Steve looks around the table. “We go around.”

The Boot of Jemiah is a riot of noise and colour, street stalls and food courts clustered around a spiral ramp circling upwards around the station's fusion reactor core. Stalls and food vendors line the walls from the Engineering pit (where Bucky, dressed in long sleeves and wearing a glove to hide his metal arm, has to be dragged away from the scrap merchants) up to the rafters where the fairground operates.  
They wander around the stalls for a while, Natasha dragging Clint over to a display of knives while Luis buys ponchiki to share with the twins.  
Steve hangs back from the group, watching as Sam and Clint sneak off to the Orloni races when Natasha isn’t looking. He buys a couple of apples, old and rough skinned, from a trader, and is paying up when Buck appears at his shoulder.  
“Okay, Steve?” he asks, his voice pitched low.  
“Yeah,” he hands over one of the apples. “Yeah, I’m good.”  
Buck falls into step beside him, bumping shoulders as they walk, and bites into his apple, letting out a pleased little sound as he chews. “We had these before,” he says with his mouth full. “Bruce had those trees.”  
Steve nods and bites into his own fruit. “They were better,” he swallows. The apple is leathery but sweet.  
“Still good.” Bucky takes another bite.  
“Yeah,” Steve has to agree. “Still good.”  
Clint and Sam come running over, Luis and the twins trailing close behind.  
“We won!” Clint shouts, waving a handful of crumpled notes.  
Sam throws his arm around Wanda’s shoulder. “Yeah, thanks to our lucky charm here.”  
“You should’ve seen it! She said bet everything on this one little Orloni,” Clint spins around, looking for Natasha. “Hey, honey! Let me buy you something shiny and dangerous.”  
“Thought we were gonna lose the lot, for sure,” Sam chips in.  
Buck frowns at Wanda, and murmurs something indistinct.  
She shrugs. “It made them happy.”  
“Girl, half these here winnings are officially yours,” Sam tells her. “Let’s go spend some money.”  
Pietro follows the pair as they head upwards towards the funfair, and Buck watches them with a broad grin. “So they patched things up.”  
“Yeah, it’s good to see.” Steve agrees. He claps Buck on the shoulder. “They’re good kids. Powerful shame what happened to ‘em, but they got a place with us.”  
Buck curls an arm around his waist. “My Captain,” he murmurs affectionately, just to see the way Steve goes pink around the ears.

The Mailroom is on one of the upper levels of the boot, the only one outside of SHIELD territory, and Steve and Buck make their way up to it, trailed by Luis and the twins.  
Wanda is proudly stomping around in a pair of 2nd or 3rd hand combat boots that Sam bought her.  
He shrugs when Steve gives him a questioning look. “Girl wanted some big boots.”  
Luis hustles his way to the front of the Mailroom queue, apologising profusely to the people he shoves out of his way without actually slowing down.  
“What’s going on?” Pietro asks, watching as Luis smiles brightly and chatters loudly and elbows his way past a few more people.  
“There’s no power in the ‘verse that can stop Luis when he gets a notion,” Steve tells him with a fond smile.  
Buck kicks his heels while they wait, and eventually Luis bursts out of the Mailroom dragging a gangly, nervous looking man behind him.  
“Guys, I want you to meet my cousin Kurt,” Luis thumps the man on the shoulder, and his quiffed hair wobbles. “Kurt, this is the Cap and the crew.”  
“Nice to meet you,” Kurt offers hesitantly. He has a thick Russian accent that makes Natasha twitchy.  
Kurt hands a bundle of mail over to Steve, then passes a box to Luis. “From _abuela_. She want know why you don’t write more.”  
Luis takes the box in one hand and reaches into his jacket to pull out an envelope. He hands it over, and Kurt takes it like it’s a holy artifact. “You make sure she gets that, yeah?” Luis gives Kurt a stern look. “It goes missing she’ll kick both our asses.”  
Steve flips through his messages while Buck peers curiously over his shoulder.  
“I get back to work,” Kurt announces, clutching the letter, and Luis gives him a hug goodbye before tearing open his parcel.  
“Your cousin is problematic,” Wanda announces.  
Luis makes a questioning sound as he pulls a knitted _chullo_ hat out of the parcel. It’s made with scraps of red and blue wool, with white stars around the brim and at the end of each ear flap. He shakes the hat out and jams it onto his head, giving the rest of the crew a delighted grin.  
“Pretty sweet, you know what I’m saying? What do you think?” He strikes a pose that makes Buck snigger. “How does it sit? Pretty damn fine, right?”  
Steve nods. “It’s a damn fine hat, Luis.”  
Luis adjusts the hat and rummages around in his parcel.  
“He bears no genetic markers to the other man, they can’t possibly be related,” Wanda says, a little louder.  
Luis pulls out a fold of paper and opens it out. “Oooh, a letter.” He clears his throat. “My dear boy,” he looks up at the group. “That’s me, just so you know.” He looks down at the letter again and reads slowly, stumbling over the words. “It says ‘My dear boy, I hope you are still alive, and not in any trouble. Thank you for the credits you sent. They were a real help as we’ve had some of the boys sick with ague. None of them turned to the wall, and for that I am thankful and have made you the enclosed.’” Luis pats his hat and smiles. “What else? ‘And also there are some seeds for your friend, Buck. Tell him the peppers will put bullets in his gun…’ Oh, you don’t need to hear any of that,” Luis blushes and fumbles in the box, pulling out some paper envelopes. He hands them over to Buck, who shakes them curiously. “‘Stay out of trouble, young man. With love, your abuela.’”  
Luis looks up at the rest of the crew, his face creased up with pride.

Wanda slips over to Buck’s side, quiet despite her boots. “They’re not cousins,” she whispers with a frown.  
Buck puts his arm around her shoulders. “Well, they are and they ain’t. Luis lost his folks when a mine shaft they were working collapsed, he grew up in an orphanage.” Buck glances over at Luis, playing with the tassels on his new hat. “They ain’t blood, but that don't mean they ain't family.”  
Wanda frowns. “Pietro is my family.”  
“Yeah, he is.”  
She watches the rest of the crew, Natasha trying to steal Luis’ hat, Sam and Clint reading their mail. Her gaze rests on Steve for a moment. He feels an odd scratching sensation behind his eyes that fades as she turns back to Buck.  
“They’re your family,” it’s not a question, but Buck nods his head in agreement.  
She looks at him closely. “Are you my family?”  
Buck grins at her. “If you want.”  
She purses her lips. “Can I think about it?”  
“Yeah,” Buck hugs her and gives Steve a smile, small and fierce, that makes something strange and sweet unfurl in his chest.

It takes some persuading and a handful of empty threats to get the crew moving.  
“Come on, you reprobates, there’s work to be done,” Steve gives Clint the gentlest shove. “Clint, go get the buggy and meet us down at the loading bay. Sam, you take the twins back to the ship while we get things squared away.” Steve pauses, watching as Sam leads the twins away, and knowing full well how the next thing he says is going to go down. “You too, Buck.”  
Natasha and Luis give each other a wary look and quietly make themselves scarce.  
Buck gives him an annoyed look. “Steve, I need to find some power converters.”  
Steve folds his arms across his chest. “And how are you planning on paying for them, interpretive dance?”  
Buck counters Steve’s move by resting his hands on his hips. “Aft compression coil needs a new catalyser. The port alternator’s got corroded terminals and I can’t just keep yanking them out and giving them a scrub before every trip like I do with the filters.”  
Steve presses his thumb to the bridge of his nose. “With what money, Buck? I got barely enough to fuel the ship as it is. I don’t know how else to explain this to you, but we’re broke. You know times are hard right now.” He lets his arms drop to his sides, failing to hide his exhaustion. “You think I pay you guys shit for the fun of it? That I get a kick out of drinking substitute coffee and nutch? You think I want us living hand to mouth like this?”  
Buck’s mouth twists up and he takes a hurried step forward, wrapping his arms around Steve’s waist. “Sorry, Stevie,” he murmurs as Steve wraps his arms around Buck’s shoulders, letting him takes the weight of them both for a moment. “We’ll manage, we always do.”  
Steve buries his nose in the collar of Buck’s shirt and breathes in the scent of him, engine oil and warm cotton and mediocre coffee. Far too soon Buck pulls back, giving Steve a comforting pat on the arm.  
“I’m headed back to the ship,” he says, contrite.  
Steve watches him turn away, hands shoved into his pockets. He thinks about saying something, offering up a promise that he’ll probably end up breaking. Instead he clamps his mouth shut and goes off in search of Luis and Natasha.

The cargo is collected without too much fuss, a large freight container and a shipping manifest about as long as Steve’s leg. The merchant working the trade, a barrel chested man with a threadbare bowler hat and a frankly enormous mustache, tells him more about deepwater drilling than Steve has ever needed or wanted to know.  
The merchant insists on levering open the weathering steel doors and visually confirming every last damn pump and pipe and tube of silicone before sealing the container shut and signing over the cargo.  
Luis and Clint trailer the goods back to the ship while Steve finishes up, confirming the delivery details and payment they should receive on Morag.  
Steve folds up the manifest and shoves it into the inside pocket of his brown leather jacket. A simple enough job, he thinks to himself. What can go wrong?

Steve is sat at the dining table scrolling through the wave on the lookout for work on Morag, still three days journey away, when Luis calls everyone to dinner.  
Wanda and Pietro look up from their game of Gin, grudgingly throwing down their hands when Luis glowers at them. Wanda brings the cards together into a neat stack while Pietro fetches bowls and spoons.  
Natasha and Clint come tumbling into the room, laughing and shoving each other, followed by Sam. Luis brings the pot to the table and opens a comms to Buck.  
“Hey, brah. Get your ass up here before we eat all the _albóndigas_. I ain’t kidding chico, I will eat your share on principle if I have to.”  
There is a snort over the comms. “Alright, alright. Don’t go putting your life in danger.”  
Luis mock gasps. “That man is besmirching my culinary skills.”  
A moment later Buck appears in the doorway. His hair is coming loose from the bun he’s pulled it into and there are streaks of grease across his cheek. He pulls out a chair next to Steve and Luis swats him with a dishcloth until he goes to the sink to wash his hands. Wanda sniggers at him and he pokes his tongue out at her.  
“Everything alright?” Steve asks when Buck finally takes his seat.  
He twitches his metal shoulder up absently. “Running a diagnostic. Probably nothing, ”  
Luis hands Steve a bowl of meatballs. “Should I be concerned?”  
Buck accepts his own bowl and pokes at the broth with his spoon. “Kitsune is usually pretty good at letting me know if something’s up.” He cuts up a meatball with the edge of his spoon. “If we all die horribly, feel free to dock it from my wages.”

Dinner is a noisy, cheerful affair, with Clint and Luis exchanging embarrassing stories that most of the crew have heard a dozen times, but are retold for the newest members.  
Sam gets to work on the dishes while Clint swipes the playing cards and starts dealing out hands of poker.  
Steve watches them with a fond smile. Theoretically the onboard chores are allocated on a rota system, where everyone does an equal share of the work. In reality there is a complex barter system involving etched discs that the crew play poker for.  
The discs aren’t for allocating work, they’re for getting out of doing them.  
It had originally been scraps of paper with words like ‘laundry’, ‘dishes’ and ‘sanitation’ scrawled over them, but Natasha had a suspicious ability to produce a scrap every single time she was asked to do chores.  
A few weeks after he had arrived onboard, Bucky had sloped into the Galley and deposited the stack of carefully shaped coins on the table. It had been Luis who had reached forward to pick them up and read out the inscription on each one. It had also been Luis who divided them amongst the crew, Buck included, and invited him to join them in a game. Buck lost every one of his cooking and dishes chips to Clint in the first round, and had smiled, a rare and tremulous thing, as Clint had swept up his winnings with a delighted whoop.  
Buck is sat with Wanda, watching with a proud little smirk as she takes Clint for everything he’s got, the rest of the crew having long since thrown in their hands. Luis calls it, and Wanda scoops up her winnings, neatly dividing her winnings into three piles. One she gives to Pietro, one she keeps and one goes to Buck, paying him back for the loan that got her into the game.  
“Another round,” Clint announces, collecting up the cards. “I’m gonna win it all back, you hear?”  
Pietro makes a derisive sound and Clint shuffles the deck and deals out another round.  
Wanda falls eerily still.  
“You okay, kid?” Luis asks, arranging his hand.  
“Fire,” Wanda murmurs.

Buck is on his feet instantly. “Get the doors,” he snaps, running over to the aftside door and slamming it shut, turning the wheel embedded in the centre to create a seal.  
Steve doesn’t question him, just turn to the door behind him, only to find Pietro already there, the door sealed tight.  
He hadn’t even seen the kid move.  
“Wanda?” Buck calls out, a question and a warning.  
There is a rumble and the ship kicks, knocking them off their feet, scattering chairs and crewmen. Steve hits the deck and watches the poker chips slide across the table and fall to the floor, catching the light as they tumble down.  
Buck is still clinging to the door, and reaches up to access a nearby control panel. Steve pulls himself to his feet and checks his crew. Wanda and Pietro are curled up together under the table _how the hell..?_ Luis and Natasha are hauling themselves up. Sam and Clint are still down but unhurt.  
“Buck, what’s our status?” Steve calls.  
“Fire down below.” He tugs at the wheel on the door. “Got a burn on the portside cargo bay.”  
“Alright,” Steve pulls himself together. “Seal off everything that leads to the cargo bay.” He unseals the fore side door and runs for the control room.  
“Pietro,” Buck calls. “I need you to get both doors for the hold, fore and aft. You’ll have to go the long way round, understand?”  
Pietro crawls out from under the table and gives Buck a nod, then vanishes.  
“What the…” Luis yelps, but Buck is already running down to the engine room.  
“The hold is sealed,” Pietro calls over the comms.  
“We need both front and rear doors sealed,” Steve answers as he reaches the bridge.  
“Yes, both doors, front and back,” Pietro sounds irritated.  
Steve hunches over the control panel. “Buck, I’m opening the Cargo bay doors-”  
“Quickest way to kill the fire, yeah. Suck it out the airlock. I’m in the engine room, you’re good to go.”  
“Wait, where’s Pietro?”  
“I’m in Galley,” Pietro answers.  
Steve doesn't have time to think about how impossible that is. He overrides the safety and cracks open the airlock. He checks the remote feed on the cargo bay and watches the fire get sucked out into the vacuum of space. The secured freight container and buggy rattling in their restraints.  
He taps at the controls and the airlock closes up again, and heads back to the Galley.

“Any casualties?” Steve asks as Natasha opens the Galley door for him.  
“I hit my head,” Luis says weakly.  
Sam is sat next to him, pressing a cloth to the wound above his eye. “I think he’ll live,” he tells Steve ruefully.  
The rest of the crew are shaken but unharmed, Natasha slowly righting the chairs and putting them around the table, taking care not to get too close to the twins, still huddled together under there. Clint silently gathers up broken glass and dented mugs.  
“What the hell happened?” Sam asks.  
Steve shakes his head and opens the comms to Buck. “What’s going on?”  
“Dead in the water,” Wanda murmurs.  
There is a crackle of static and Buck responds. “We ain’t moving. Engine’s dead.”  
Steve swears under his breath and takes a couple of paces before he responds, trying not to meet the eyes of his crew. “Okay, I need you to suss what’s gone wrong, get us moving again.”  
There is a heavy sigh. “I’ll try.”  
Steve turns to Clint. “Go check the systems, with the engine out main life-support will be down, so check that auxiliary is still running.” Clint gives a quick nod and heads to the ship's forecastle.  
“Nat, go check the back-up generators are still working.” She gives a mute gesture of assent on follows after Clint.  
Steve rests his knuckles on the table and takes a moment to breathe.  
Clints voice echoes through the stillness, informing the crew that the generators survived the fire and secondary life support is online. Sam lets out a low, guttural sound of relief.  
“Alright, I’m gonna check on Buck,” he glances at Sam. “You got things under control here?”  
Sam nods grimly, and Steve heads for the stairs.

Steve finds Buck sat on the floor in the Engine room, machine parts and wires scattered around him. He has a twisted piece of metal in his hands, turning it slowly.  
“Bucky?”  
Buck looks up at him, his mouth a thin, unhappy line.  
He holds up the chunk of metal. “Here’s where it started. Compression coil blew, took the port catalyser with it.”  
“What does that mean?”  
Buck curls up, cradling the damaged part in his hands. “Means the engines dead.”  
“Can you fix it,” Steve struggles to keep the frustration out of his voice.  
Buck shakes his head. “It’s broke. Need a new one.”  
“Well, we don’t have a new one.” He pauses. “The freight container in the cargo bay, any chance that’ll have-”  
“It’s equipment for Jack-up rigs, so if we needed hydraulics or rack and pinion gears then yeah, I’d say crack it open. But there’s nothing we can use in there.”  
Steve hunkers down next to Buck and takes the broken part out of his hands.  
“What am I looking at?”  
Buck gets to his feet and leads Steve over to the reactor core that takes up most of the Engine room. One of the side panels has been removed.  
“The port catalyser fits here,” he points to a charred area inside the core. “Attaches here and here.”  
Steve holds up the twisted piece of metal. “And without this, the engine don’t turn.”  
Buck shakes his head. “Everything else I can patch up long enough to get us to Morag, but not this.”  
Steve hands the part back to Buck. “Okay, well we’re still breathing, we got power…”  
“Steve.” Buck’s voice has an edge to it that Steve hasn’t heard before. “Port thrusters got knocked out and that locked the engine.” He gives Steve a hard look. “Starboard thrusters would have still been firing for a second before shutdown.”  
“It takes a moment for Steve to understand what he’s saying. “We’re out of control.”  
Buck nods. “She’s spinning. Slowly, not enough to interfere with the grav dampeners…”  
“Well where are we…” Steve pales, and for a moment thinks he’s going to throw up.  
He opens the comms. “Clint,” he snaps. “Get onto the bridge, tell me exactly where we are right now.”  
Buck leans against the reactor core, pressing his cool metal palm to his forehead while they wait for an answer.  
“Oh god,” Clint whines over the comms. “oh god oh god oh god…”

Steve clears space on the dining table for Clint to get to work on. He pulls a stub of pencil and starts drawing on the wood. Buck doesn’t make any sound of protest over his table as Clint scrawls a large ellipsis and writes ‘SHIELD’ in the centre, followed by a smaller circle marked ‘Oborotni’. He scratches down Kyln with The Boot in orbit on one side of the Oborotni, Morag and her cluster of satellites on the other.  
Clint looks up at the crew gathered around him. “Okay, so we left The Boot four days ago, which puts us here,” he places a cross just past the curve of the Oborotni circle. “But the ship has been kicked off course and got us spinning.”  
“Which way are we headed?” Sam asks warily.  
Clint draws a curving line into Oborotni territory. Natasha lets out a small, pained sound and Luis swears profusely.  
“I don’t understand, what are Oborotni?” Pietro asks, pulling Wanda closer to his side.  
“Savages,” Steve answers carefully.  
“Yeah, men who went to the edge of space, looked at at the vasty nothingness and went all,” Luis wiggles his fingers by the side of his head. “ _Demente_. Like the whole id versus ego thing, the instinct of destruction directed against the external world and all that shit. I mean, I seen the edge of space, it’s just a big old swathe of nothing, you know? Not worth getting all het up about.”  
“How long?” Steve cuts Luis off.  
“Hours,” Clint makes two more marks on the table, crosses spaced equidistant on the far side of Oborotni territory as the room falls silent.  
“What about the engine?” Natasha asks finally.  
Buck shakes his head and offers no further information.  
“There must be something?” Sam snaps, clenching his fists.  
Steve points to the last two marks on the table. “These are SHIELD outposts. They operate on a skeleton crew, but we are within range of their comms. We could send out a distress signal.”  
The walls ring with the clamour of voices as everyone starts arguing. Steve grits his teeth as they yell over each other, only Buck remaining silent at the far end of the table, watching Steve with narrowed eyes.  
“That’s enough,” Steve snarls. “If anyone has any better ideas, I’m all for hearing them.”  
No one speaks for a minute. It’s Natasha who finally breaks the silence. “Cap, for some of us, SHIELD is a death sentence.”  
Sam swallows and nods. “If it’s a choice between SHIELD and Oborotni, I’d sooner take my own way out, y’know?”  
Steve nods. “I’m not asking that of you, of any of you.”  
Wanda pulls away from her brother and takes a step towards Steve, a look of dawning horror on her pale features. “You’re sending us away!”  
Steve watches the way Buck’s shoulders tense up.  
“Yes.”

Steve flinches as Buck slams the Galley door shut on his way out. He doesn’t have time to soothe everyone's ruffled feathers.  
“We’ve got two shuttles,” Steve explains.  
“Yeah, but they’re short range,” Clint talks over him. “Run on fuel cells, we won’t even get halfway to Morag.”  
“I’m not asking you to,” Steve counters. “You split into two groups, head in opposite directions, less chance of being spotted. You keep within comms range, but out of visual. The shuttles are small enough that they’ll pass as debris if a SHIELD vessel scans the area.”  
“But you’re staying put? Steve, what the fuck?” Sam glowers, but Steve ignores him.  
“I got no outstanding warrants,” Steve waves a hand. “They’ll keep me for questioning, but they’re got nothing they can hold against me. I’m just a former Captain who runs a salvage business, taking cargo to Morag.” He looks rueful. “Got a shipping manifest and a buyer waiting.”  
“You can’t trust SHIELD, man!” Luis shakes his head. “They’ll pin something on you, for sure.”  
Steve shakes his head. “Well, that’s a risk I have to take. Sam, Clint and Nat, you take shuttle one, you need to get her prepped. Now.” He turns to Clint. “I need you to send out a beacon to the outposts. Hell, make it a general distress call, there may be some other traders in the area.”  
Clint doesn’t even try to hide his doubtful look, but heads up to the Bridge without a word.  
“Luis, you take the twins and Buck in shuttle two.”  
Luis shakes his head. “He ain’t gonna go quietly, Cap.”  
“Well, he’s not staying here,” Steve sighs. “Get the shuttle prepped, Luis. I’ll take care of it.”  
“I’m just saying, Cap-”  
“That’s enough,” Steve yells, then snaps his mouth shut. He breathes heavily through his nose. “You have your orders.”  
Luis takes a step back, keeping his mouth tightly closed for once, and Steve swallows down the sour taste of guilt and makes his way to the Engine room.

Steve finds Buck screwing some housing on the reactor core back into place. He doesn’t look up when Steve comes into the room.  
“You’re in shuttle two with the twins and Luis. Fly smart, don’t push her too hard and you should be fine.”  
Buck snorts as he moves to the next open panel and starts snapping components in place.  
“If you’ve got any unkind opinions as to my character, now is your last chance to express them,” Steve adds quietly. _I don’t want it to end like this_ , he thinks, watching Buck wire the last component in position and slot its housing into place.  
“They say on Earth-That-Was the Captain always went down with his ship. Wouldn’t expect any less from you,” Buck rumbles as he screws the panel down.  
Steve bites the inside of his cheek. “You mad at me?”  
Buck doesn’t answer, and instead points to the last remaining panel, one Steve recognises from earlier. “Port catalyser, remember? Fits here, see?” He points to a sketch in marker pen above the gap in the machinery, a crude outline of a catalyser and instructions for how to install it. “Made it simple enough for a dumb punk like you to install, you just connect it here and here, close up the panel.” He steps back and gestures to a large level against the wall, there are notes written in marker alongside it too. “Pull that lever, that’ll get the engine turning.” Buck finally turns to face him, looking wounded but resolute. “Then you go straight up to the Bridge and call us home, you hear?’  
Steve nods. His throat clogs up with words, terrible, desperate, useless words.  
Buck opens his mouth to speak, then seems to think better of it. He fetches a backpack hanging by its straps against the wall, and walks around the room, picking up things and dropping them in.  
“Take only what you need,” Steve says uselessly.  
Buck gives him a pointed look, and Steve takes a step back, feeling oddly chastened. The silence is broken by Clint, calling over the comms.  
“Cap, we’re all set. Come up to the bridge?”  
Steve gives Buck one last look. He doesn’t know what to say, how to say all the things he wants to, so he turns and quietly leaves.

Clint is sat in the pilot seat, watching through the window at the stars slowly spinning past.  
“All set?” Steve asks briskly.  
Clint pats a piece of casing that has been jury-rigged onto the control panel. There is a large, red button in the centre of it. “Distress call sent out. Diverted the NavSat to the transmitter.”  
Steve frowns. “Boost the signal?”  
Clint grins. “Yeah, and screw up the navigation of anything within range. Really obnoxious little trick, they’d have to find the source of the signal and shut it off.”  
Steve gives an impressed little nod. “So they can’t ignore it. Knew I hired you for something.”  
“Not just rugged good looks,” Clint grins and pats the device rigged to the controls. “Linked this to the shuttles. You push this button, it’ll call us back.”  
Luis comes into the Bridge before Steve has a chance to say anything more, and holds a large assault rifle in front of him.  
“So my cousin Francisco had this bank job lined up, easy money, in and out. Only turned out they had hired additional local security, because some people don’t have mad secret keeping skills, you know?”  
“Luis, what…” Steve utters weakly.  
“Seven guys came at me. Seven. The best of them carried this baby. MP5 with a shorty grenade launcher, wicked sharp short range accuracy, minimal kickback, though I’ve seen the way you handle a gun so you’d best stick to five round bursts.” He looks at the weapon affectionately. “It’s my very favourite gun.”  
He holds the gun out to Steve. “Her name is Verónica.”  
When Steve doesn’t take the gun Luis gives it a little shake. “C’mon. She’s the best damn gun made by man, she’s a piece of art.” He hesitates. “She’ll take good care of you.”  
Steve lets out a sigh and takes the weapon. “This is just temporary, you understand?”  
Luis nods, but doesn’t look convinced.  
“Okay, we ain’t got time to waste. On the shuttles, the lot of you.”

Clint and Luis clear out of the Bridge, leaving Steve to take a seat at the controls. He hears footsteps behind him, and Natasha appears in the doorway. She places a pistol on the control panel.  
“You not coming down to say your farewells?”  
Steve shakes his head. It’s hard enough as it is.  
“Twelve rounds in the chamber,” she says carefully. “You’ll need to keep a count.”  
Steve nods once in understanding. “Time’s a-wastin. You should get moving.”  
She nods, and bends down to kiss him on the cheek. “Aye, Captain,” she murmurs, and is gone.  
Steve waits in the silent bridge, and watches each shuttle detach from the ship and maneuver away. He sits back in his seat and lets out a heavy sigh.

“... Kitsune… SHIELD vessel Crossbones… Distress beacon… Do you read?” the voice that crackles and fizzes over the comms is heavily distorted, but it’s enough to wake Steve up from his doze. He scrambles for the controls.  
“Yes, this is Kitsune. Captain Steve Rogers speaking. Did you receive our distress call?”  
The voice snorts, causing a burst of static. “Hard to miss. What’s the situation?”  
“Port catalyser blew out, locked down the engine and set me spinning… places I don’t particularly want to go.”  
“Yeah, I noticed. I can’t invite you aboard my vessel, Captain. Nothing personal, you see. I just don’t know you.”  
Steve huffs under his breath. “No offense taken. Not asking for a ride, just a little help to get me back on course.”  
“Right,” the man sounds unconvinced. “Your mechanical trouble. We’ve got some spares onboard, but how do I know you’re not pulling a fast one? Could be there’s an ambush waiting for me and mine?”  
“Well by now you’ll have scanned the ship, seen I’m the only soul on board.” Steve struggles to keep his voice calm. “Plus there’s the spinning into Oborotni territory with a dead engine.”  
There is a long stretch of silence, and Steve digs his fingers into the arm of the pilot seat.  
“True. Alright _Captain_. I’ll be expecting to see your license and registration when we board.”  
“Steve breathes out slowly. “And I expect to see that engine part before I let you on board.”  
“Then I’m sure we can do business.”  
“Good to hear, Captain..?”  
There is a derisive snort. “ _Commander_ Rumlow. Brock Rumlow.”

Steve waits in the cargo bay while the SHIELD vessel, the Crossbones, moves into a synchronous orbit before deploying its airlock.  
There is a tapping at the small round window in the cargo bay doors, and Steve spies a rugged looking man holding up an engine part. He taps it against the toughened glass again and gives Steve a leer.  
Steve reaches for the controls and opens the airlock. There is a hiss and Rumlow steps into the cargo bay, flanked by two men. He hands the part to the man at his right, rather than to Steve.  
Steve steps forward and holds out his documentation. “I’m sure you’ll find everything in order.”  
Rumlow takes the papers with a smirk, unfolding them and reading through the contents. “This all checks out,” he hands back the papers.  
Steve takes them, looking down as he folds them up. “Well now that’s settled…” he looks up to see a gun trained on him. “No need for trouble,” he says quietly. _Fuck_. “Just take what you want.”  
Rumlow grins at him, sharp and feral. “Oh, I intend to,” he says and pulls the trigger. 

_“Okay, you see it’s like this Cap. I trust you, you know? I really do, you’re like the epitome of decency. If someone were to cut you open you’d bleed liberty and freedom and… well blood. And would probably-”  
“Luis,” Steve sighs.  
“Did you pay for this thing?” Luis has the decency to look contrite as soon as the words are out of his mouth. “I mean, like with actual money? You didn’t just win it in a poker game or something? Because if you’re playing cards, you gotta holla, bro! I’m all over that shit.”  
“Bought and paid for,” Steve answers with a smile.  
Luis shakes his head and waves at the hull, the original red oxide coating patched with scraps and salvage in silver and copper and the odd patch of incongruous blue. “It looks like my abuelas patchwork quilt, y’know?”  
“Doesn’t matter what she looks like.”  
“Does it even fly?”  
Steve shrugs. “Needs a bit of work.” He leads the way up the Cargo Bay ramp. “Just… Think about it. We get a mechanic, find a good pilot… A small crew, those that feel the need to get some distance between themselves and this… New world order. Take jobs as they come.” He puts a hand on Luis’ shoulder and grips firmly. “However far SHIELD reaches, we’ll be just a little bit further, never have to live by their rules.”  
Luis nods. “Still gotta follow your orders though, right?”  
Steve snorts and Luis throws an arm around his waist. “Alright, let's fuckin’ do this.”_

Steve lets out a cough, spraying blood across the Cargo Bay floor.  
Rumlow turns to the man at his right. “Get that catalyser in place before we run into any unwanted company.” The man grunts in assent and heads for the Engine room. Rumlow turns to his other lackey. “Search the ship. You find anyone else on board, shoot ‘em.”  
The man nods. “You want me to call Rollins? He’d pay a good price for a Foxfire.”  
Rumlow hums thoughtfully, walking with him towards the gantry. “Lets get ‘er out the woods first, then we’ll look at buyers.”  
Steve waits for them to leave, then forces himself onto his hands and knees, sweat dripping into his eyes. He blinks, letting out a low, pained sound as he crawls to the buggy strapped in position to one side of the airlock, leaving a streak of blood in his wake. He pauses to gulp deep, ragged gasps of air before he reaches under the buggy, behind the heavy rear wheel where he has hidden Verónica. The stretch of his arm pulls something, deep and blinding and disorienting, and for a moment the world turns white. He shakes his head like a dog, and uses the wheel arch of the buggy to pull himself to his feet.  
There is a low thrum, and the metal grating under his boots shudders. The engine is running. He checks the chamber of the gun and holds it in position. 

Steve blacks out for a moment, but shakes himself off again when he hears approaching voices.  
Rumlow, followed closely by his lackeys, stride into the Cargo Bay.  
“-You go on up to the Bridge, kill the distress beacon,” Rumlow orders. “Then follow us back to base.”  
“Rumlow!” Steve calls out.  
Rumlow's head snaps around, and he grins at the sight of Steve, propped up against the buggy.  
“Well aren’t you full of surprises,” he sneers.  
“Get off my ship,” Steve answers flatly.  
“Or what?” Rumlow laughs. “You’ll shoot me?”  
“Yeah,” Steve raises the weapon a little higher. “Toss all three of you out the airlock and go about my business. And maybe in a few weeks someone will come by, spot an abandoned ship on the edge of Oborotni territory.” Steve swallows, blinking sweat out of his eyes, but keeps the gun steady. “Doubt they’ll come in for a closer look.”  
Rumlow snorts and for a moment Steve thinks he’s going to make a play. “Can’t blame a fella for trying,” he says with a shrug.  
“Yes I can,” Steve hisses. “Now get off my damn ship.”  
Rumlow gives him a salute, and leads his crewmen to the airlock. Steve shuffles after them, step by careful step, fighting to stay conscious, until he reaches the controls and slams the airlock shut. He inches his way over to the window and watches the airlock close on the Crossbones.  
When the ship eventually pulls away he lowers Verónica. She slips out of his fingers, clattering across the Cargo Bay.  
Steve takes a single, hesitant step towards the bridge before his knees give way and he crumples to the floor.

There are brief flashes in the darkness. Bright lights. Panicked voices. Something cold and metal wrapped around his wrist. They fade away, and each time seems like the last.  
Each sense returns slowly, drifting in and out of his reach like flotsam on the tide. He grasps for them and they slip away.

Steve blinks, his eyes gritty and oversensitive, watering in the harsh light of the Infirmary. There is a weight against his hip, a skin-warmed metal hand curled around his knee. He looks down, eyes adjusting to the light, and sees a figure curled up against the gurney, a tangle of dark hair spread across the bandages covering Steve’s stomach.  
“Buck?” his voice is a painful rasp, barely audible.  
Buck still hears him, lifts his head and brushes the hair out of his eyes, metal fingers still wrapped protectively around his leg.  
“Sam wouldn’t give you my blood,” Buck mutters churlishly.  
Steve looks up to see an IV bag hooked up to the gurney, a line leading into the back of his hand.  
“Yeah, well Sam doesn’t know what’s in your blood. Ain’t gonna happen,” Sam says from the doorway. He looks tired but in good spirits. “Sam also told you to quit sprawling over the Captain. Guy’s gotta heal.”  
Buck sits up, pulling his hands into his lap, and Steve misses the touch of him, sharp and sudden. Every point on his body where Buck had been pressed suddenly feels cold and disjointed.  
He reaches out a hand and murmurs a soft “Hey,” and Buck curls both hands around his, metal and flesh clasped around him, and he feels weighted again. Solid.  
“You came back,” he rasps, and Buck smiles at him, his eyes crinkling. “After Wanda took me for everything at cards there wasn’t much else to do.”  
“Not how I heard it,” Sam chips in with a smirk. “Way Luis tells it. you pitched a fit ‘bout five minutes out.”  
“Well, Luis needs to keep his mouth shut,” Buck mutters.  
“Yeah, that’s gonna happen,” Steve blinks, his eyelids heavy.  
“Saw a SHIELD packet docked,” Buck squeezes Steve’s fingers. “Stayed on the far side of Kitsune, but they didn’t hang around.”  
Steve can’t keep his eyes open. “Thanks Buck. How long ‘till we get to Morag?”  
“Been here two days,” Sam answers. “Folks have been kind enough to put us up a while. Seems that a lot of ships don’t make it through. Can’t imagine why.” Sam snorts derisively.  
“Get some sleep, Steve,” Bucky murmurs. “We’ll all be here when you wake up.”  
Steve should argue, should get up off his ass and get back to work.  
Instead he lets the gentle, circular motions of Buck’s thumb against his wrist soothe him to sleep.

The few days on Morag becomes a few weeks.  
Buck trades his skills as a mechanic for parts, and over time his skin becomes browned and freckled in the sun. His dark hair warms to chestnut and he comes back to the ship each night with salt on his skin and another handful of shells and water smoothed pebbles to add to his growing collection.  
If Steve were less selfish, he would ask Buck if he wanted to stay. Instead he keeps his mouth shut, and lets the guilt gnaw away at him.  
Sam sets up a temporary clinic for the dockworkers and day labourers of the port. He’s limited by lack of provisions, but gets by with what he has. Most cases come down to too much work and not enough to eat, and there’s not much that can be done about that.  
Wanda loves the ocean, the vastness of it. It seems to soothe whatever’s going on in her head. Buck takes her out with him when he’s working, and she trails home with stories of sea creatures the size of cities, of swarms of silver-bright shapes darting through the water. Of clouds of jellyfish, like brightly coloured strips of tissue paper floating serenely on the tide.  
They take money when it’s offered, but mostly people pay in trade. The crew are grateful to eat actual food for a change, but by the end of week two, everyone has had more than enough of fish and kelp.  
When Steve can walks without grimacing the crew don’t even wait for the order, but say their goodbyes and go back to the ship, and take to the skies once more.


	5. Kaolin and Lithium

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Alright, we need to head a mile north of town.”  
> “Steve,” Buck says faintly, looking across the road.  
> “Which is… that way?” Steve point along the railway track ahead.  
> “Steve,” Buck says a little louder.  
> “What?” Steve mutters, turning to see what Buck is staring at.  
>  _Oh._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> f you're going to have an 'Out of Gas' chapter, you've got to have a 'Jaynestown' chapter. But instead of having a statue of a right wing noise merchant... Look we all know where this is going
> 
> Thanks to Krycekasks for cheerleading and Eidheann for kicking the words into shape  
> I love you guys

Pietro snatches the ball out of Clint’s hands and trips him up for good measure. He slows down long enough to flash him a sly grin. “Having trouble keeping up, old man?”  
Clint swears and scrambles to his feet, but the boy is already out of reach, moving slow enough to tease, but too fast to get a hold of. Clint swipes at him anyway, but he’s gone again.  
“Little shit, slow down!”  
Buck wheezes out a laugh, bent double as he tries to catch his breath.  
Clint points a finger at him. “Your kid is a menace, Buck.”  
Sam manages to snatch the ball from Pietro, and throws it overarm at the white circle painted on the Cargo Bay wall. It bounces off the centre, and Sam lets out a loud whoop.  
“That’s how we do it,” he chants, giving Natasha a high five as they move into an attack position.  
Luis claps Buck on the back as he straightens up, glancing as Steve comes out onto the gantry overhead. Steve follows the walkway to where Wanda is sat, combat boot-covered feet dangling over the edge, hands gripping the rails. She watches the game intently, her head jerking back and forth as the players scatter across the Cargo Bay. There is something slightly unsettling about her movements, almost like a cat watching its prey or a serpent waiting to strike.  
“Who’s winning,” Steve asks, leaning against the railing.  
Wanda frowns. “They’re not playing by any definable rules.” She tilts her head to one side thoughtfully. “Pietro is winning.”  
Steve huffs and watches the rest of his crew chasing each other around. They’ve been cooped up for too long, he knows, work being limited to hauling cargo from one grim backwater moon to another. The less said about the crate of fermented fish from Morag to Valhalla the better.  
Steve claps his hands, getting everyone's attention. “Alright, listen up. We got a job.”  
“Please don’t be more fish,” Sam shouts up. There is a chorus of agreement.  
“That was a lucrative deal,” Steve counters. Luis lets out a wail that he chooses to ignore. “Come on, family meeting,” he shouts down before heading up to the Galley.

The rest of the crew slowly traipse into the Galley and Steve waits while they bicker over mediocre coffee and finally settle around the table.  
“What’s the job,” Clint asks, pouring himself more coffee.  
“Crime,” Steve answers. He taps on his slate, bringing up a schematic of a train pulling several carriages, some with seating for passengers, others clearly designed for cargo. “A gentleman with more money than scruples would like us to reroute a package for him.”  
Buck looks suspicious. “What kind of package?”  
“Small,” Steve answers quickly. “Some sort of chemical.”  
“Who’s the buyer?” Natasha cuts in.  
Steve glances at her “Feller named Cross, got our contact from Stark.”  
“Doesn’t exactly make him legit,” Sam mutters.  
Steve has to give him that, and gives Sam a rueful nod. “The man has money.”  
“Where is it?” Buck cuts in, resting his elbows on the table.  
Steve rolls his eyes. “If you all would let me finish?”  
“I like the cross-examining,” Bucky grins, resting his chin in the palm of his hand. “Gets you all flustered.”  
For a moment Steve doesn’t know how to answer, which only makes Buck grin wider. _Damnit_.  
Steve taps the slate. “We need to figure out how to get goods off a moving train without being seen.” Buck reaches across the table and snags the corner of the slate, pulling it towards him so he can get a closer look at the schematics. “The whole moon is run by a guy named Carson, I hear he doesn’t take kindly to thieves.”  
“Carson?” Luis mutters. “Where do I know that name?”  
“Not one of your cousins, I take it?” Natasha steals Clints cup and takes a swig of coffee.  
Luis shakes his head.  
Bucks hums to himself and pushes the slate back to Steve. “Go in from above.”  
Clint lets out a bark of laughter. “What?”  
“Go in from above. The roof panels are easy to remove, held in place by a couple of screws. Pilot the ship over the train, take off the roof panel, winch up the cargo, fly away.” Buck sits back in his chair. “Need a couple of people on the train to get the cargo in position, make sure no one comes wandering through the carriage at the wrong moment.”  
“Those trains run at over three hundred hundred miles an hour on the open flats,” Steve glances at Clint. “You think you could do that?”  
“Let's see, I somehow manage to pilot a ship that runs at four hundred thousand miles an hour,” Clint slaps his hand on the table. “Yeah, I can do that.”  
“Alright,” Steve waves his hand placatingly. “Looks like we got ourselves a plan.”

It’s a three day journey to San Quentin, a grim little rock just east of nothing. The closer they get, the twitchier Luis becomes. By the time they’re in orbit he’s practically vibrating.  
Steve gathers everyone around the table, a map of the railway line spread out across it, for a last run through of the plan.  
“Okay, Luis and I will be catching the train here at Donovan,” he points to a stop on the railroad. “Clint will intercept here, and Natasha will do her thing.” Another point is marked on the map. “Luis and I will run interference, help her winch up the goods. Then we pop the lid back in place, Clint flies off to a safe distance and we return to our seats like the honest everyday folks we ain't.”  
“And what if they figure out there’s been a theft while you’re still on the train?” Sam asks.  
Steve shrugs. They can search us and come up with nothing, it’ll be like the cargo just disappeared. They can be suspicious all they like, but without proof, they got nothing. We just keep calm, keep our heads down when we get to Kaolin and- Luis is there something wrong?!”  
At the word ‘Kaolin’ Luis had sat bolt upright and let out a panicked little squeak.  
“Uh,” Luis holds up a hand like he’s in class. “There might be a problem.”  
There is a chorus of muttered cursing around the room. Steve lets his head drop.  
“Oh for…” he bites his tongue. “What’s the problem, Luis?”  
“I may have been to, what was it? San Quentin? Yeah. Might have been there before? They got all the mud, right?”  
Steve sits down heavily. “Yeah, clay. It’s the main export.”  
“What, mud?” Pietro sounds incredulous.  
“Well, the minerals and ores extracted from the clay for one, not to mention ceramics,” Steve explains.  
“Yeah, Kitsune’s got a few ceramic parts,” Buck adds. “Hey, any chance-”  
“No,” Steve glares at him, but it just makes Buck smile. “Luis, you maybe want to fill us in?”  
“Okay, so I was pulling this caper with my buddy Scott,” Luis sits up in his seat. “Now my boy Scotty has got mad thieving skills, ain't a safe been made that he can’t crack open. Least that was the way of things until this one. Great big thing it was, built like a damn tank. So we find out that this dude is going to be out all night at this fancy soiree, my buddy Grigori is working the bar there. Huge guy, Grigori, absolute sweetheart, got a real passion for wrestling, strictly the Greco-Roman stuff, which I think is a euphemism for-”  
“Luis, how is this relevant?” Steve cuts in.  
Luis shakes his head. “I’m sorry, I get excited. So we break into Carson’s house and Scotty is trying every trick he knows, but that nut ain’t gonna crack. So we took the safe.”  
“Oh, we are so screwed,” Natasha mutters.  
“So we haul it back to our ship with my cousin Dave, and take off.”  
“Of course there’s a cousin,” Steve sighs. Buck pats him on the back sympathetically.  
“But this thing is solid, weighs like a ton, and Scotty is losing his mind. This thing was like, his white whale or something, and nothing was working. So we… tossed it out the airlock.”  
“Thank you and goodnight,” Clint sighs.  
“We figured it would smash open. It did.” Luis shuffles in his chair. “All over Kaolin and those poor mud farmers. Must’ve been forty thousand dollars in there. Scotty was so pissed. Stopped working with me after that.”  
“When you say ‘Stopped working for you’ do you actually mean ‘Got caught and has spent the intervening years plotting his revenge’?” Natasha snarks.  
“Scotty? No, works on one of those ice moons, some kind of programer. He’s married and everything, got a little kid.” Luis fidgets in his seat. “But, y’know, those guys down there spend their whole lives digging in the shit, and the water ain't fit to drink, full of lead and all kinds of crap.” He shakes his head. “I hope they got to keep some of that money, if anyone deserves a little bit of good fortune it’s those guys.”  
Buck leans forward and gives Luis a gentle shove. “Sap,” he murmurs affectionately.  
Any irritation that Steve feels dissolves at Luis’ awkward smile. “Alright, change of plan. Luis, you stay on the ship. We don’t want to draw any attention.” He taps a finger to his lips. “Buck, you’re with me.”

Clint drops Steve and Buck a mile out from Donovan, a grim little town surrounded by marshlands filled with workers. The smell is enough to make their eyes water.  
Buck wears long sleeves and gloves to disguise his metal arm. But as they walk past the rows of indentured workers and day labourers, men and women hunched over in the mire harvesting clay and seawater they see the metallic glint of crude prosthetic limbs. Buck counts them silently as they pass, heads down, a clumsily made ceramic hand, a curved metal blade for a leg, a misshapen fired clay foot. Eventually he stops counting, his mouth a flat, grim line as they reach the railway station.  
“Why are there so many?” Buck asks softly as they board the train, sitting on the hard bench seating opposite a man in his mid-thirties with a stiff-looking steel pincer for a hand.  
“Well, clay harvesting is pretty much the only job going here. Accidents happen.”  
“Accidents?” Buck sounds unconvinced.  
“Yeah, accidents. And management decides to increase production and cut costs by ignoring safety protocols. Equipment doesn’t get properly maintained or upgraded, safety procedures get bypassed and some poor bastard loses an arm or an eye or-” Steve catches himself and takes a slow breath. “Accidents,” he repeats.  
Buck nods, and they sit in silence for a while as the train speeds past the endless mudflats, people wading knee deep into the waters.  
“You from a mining world, Stevie?”  
Steve lets out a huff. “Silicone,” he says after a minute.  
Buck leans into Steve a little, a warm weight from shoulder to hip. Steve closes his eyes and presses back. “We should get moving,” he says quietly.

They work their way along the carriages, their eyes down, their shoulders hunched. No one pays them any attention. The passengers all sit slumped in their seats, gazes distant, lost in their own worlds.  
They reach the freight carriage, and Buck watches the door while Steve goes through the stacked crates, moving them around carefully until he finds the one they want. He drags it out to the middle of the floor and goes to the opposite end of the carriage to keep watch. There is a heavy thump above them, and the sound of a power tool working.  
After a few minutes of scratching, the panel overhead is lifted, and Natasha looks down at them, strapped up in a safety harness and dangling from a rope. The Kitsune hovers a few meters overhead, easily keeping pace with the train as it tears in an arrow-straight line across the plains.  
Steve takes a moment to admire Clint’s piloting skills, watching as Natasha swings back and forth above them, Luis above her keeping the winch she’s hanging from in place with a steadying hand.  
He can make out Wanda peering curiously over the edge of the hatch too. She gives him a cheerful wave. He waves back, and Luis throws down another rope.  
Steve gets the crate tied up, and waves at Luis to haul it up and away. He keeps a hand on the load as Luis pulls, keeping it from swinging around and getting battered. In a few moments it’s clear of the train carriage, and Natasha moves the panel back into place.  
Steve doesn’t relax until there is a soft scrape from above, and Natasha’s voice over the comms.  
“Clear and away, Cap. See you on the other side.”  
“Don’t run off with my damn ship,” he warns, and gets an unsettling cackle in response.  
Buck grins at him. “We did it,” he says brightly.  
“Yeah,” Steve can’t help but smile. “We did it.”

They make their way back through the carriages, taking the first pair of empty seats that they find. Steve lets Buck take the window seat, biting back a smile as he presses his face to the glass, watching the unchanging landscape speeding by.  
Steve gets as comfortable as he can on the thinly padded bench, folding his arms across his chest and closing his eyes.  
“Coming into Kaolin,” Buck says softly, a little while later.  
Steve grunts and sits up. Buck peers out the window as they pull up to the platform at another small, ragged looking town.  
The train rattles to a halt, hissing and grinding and clattering. Steve pulls down the lever in the carriage door and forces it open. He steps down and holds the door open while Buck shuffle out after him along with a handful of other passengers.  
People mill around on the platform, passengers boarding and alighting while a harassed looking porter starts unloading cargo.  
Steve pulls Buck away from the crowd, walking quickly along the platform and past the solitary ticket booth.  
The town of Kaolin is small, rough around the edges and crowded with workers coming and going. They stand on the street outside the train station while Steve gets his bearings.  
“Alright, we need to head a mile north of town.”  
“Steve,” Buck says faintly, looking across the road.  
“Which is… that way?” Steve point along the railway track ahead.  
“Steve,” Buck says a little louder.  
“What?” Steve mutters, turning to see what Buck is staring at.  
_Oh._

“What the hell..?” Steve breathes as Buck crosses the street, walking towards the single strangest thing Steve has ever seen.  
There is a cleared area across the road from the train station, barely a few meters wide. In the centre is a platform, its surface littered with objects made out of clay and scraps of metal. There are little bundles of drying wildflowers tied up with string arranged around the statue in the centre of the platform. The statue is crude, but clearly made with care. The figure represented is waving a fistful of notes, a joyful expression on his face.  
Steve bends down to pick up one of the pieces of clay at the statue's feet and Buck tuts at him reproachfully. “That ain’t for you.”  
Steve hastily puts the clay shape, he’s pretty sure it’s supposed to be a waffle or some sort of pancake, back on the plinth. “Buck?”  
“Uh-huh?”  
“You got any notion as to why there’s a statue of Luis in the middle of town?”  
Buck huffs. “I guess the townsfolk got to keep the money?”  
“Hey you!” A voice calls out behind them.  
They both turn and see a harassed looking woman crossing the street towards them. She isn’t dressed in a Strike uniform, but from the epaulettes on her shoulder Steve guesses that she’s local law enforcement, probably a deputy.  
“Don’t run,” he hisses at Buck before turning to the woman and giving her his best smile. “Can I help you ma’am?”  
The woman glares at him. “You were on the train.” It’s not a question.  
“Yes, is there a problem?”  
She gives him an exasperated look and holds out her hand. “Papers.”  
Steve pulls their train tickets and fake travel permits out of his pocket and hands them over. The woman flicks through them quickly before giving the pair and assessing look. “Come with me.”  
She doesn't return the documents.  
Steve and Buck don’t argue, following her back to the station. The woman orders them to wait with a group of nervous-looking people from the train in the cramped, stifling waiting room on the platform. There is a guard posted on the door outside in case anyone tries to leave.  
“You wait here,” she says sharply and turns to leave.  
“What’s going on?” Steve calls after her. She doesn’t answer, just keeps walking away.

“Come on, we’ll be here a while,” Buck mutters and shuffles over to the far corner of the waiting room. He makes himself comfortable on the floor and settles down to take a nap.  
After a few minutes of indecision Steve sits down next to him, though he doesn’t try to sleep.  
Buck unconsciously curls up against him and Steve pillows his cheek against his dark hair, watching as the woman comes back every so often to take someone else in for questioning. They don’t return, and as the hours drag by the waiting room slowly empties.  
It’s late afternoon and there are only a handful of of people left waiting when Steve nudges Buck awake. He grumbles softly but sits up, yawning and scratching the back of his head.  
“We arrested?” he asks sleepily.  
“Not yet.”  
Buck snorts and rubs his eyes. The woman comes over to them, checking the folder she’s carrying before speaking, harried and distracted. “You two come with me.”  
They scramble to their feet and follow obediently as she leads them to a small room on the far side of the platform, clearly a stationmaster's office by the maps pinned to the wall and the schedules pushed to one side on the desk.  
There is a comfortable chair on one side of the desk, and two rickety looking wooden chairs on the other side. “Take a seat, Sheriff will be with you in a minute.”  
The woman gives them a shrewd look, then pulls the door as she leaves. Steve listens out for the click of a lock and he isn’t disappointed.  
Steve sits in one of the wooden chairs while Buck takes a moment to look at the desk, taking in the stack of reports, an open pocket watch and half empty cup of cold coffee littered across it.  
He lets out a curious little hum and sits down next to Steve. After a quick glance to the closed door Buck takes his hand, linking their fingers together.  
“What..?” Steve frowns.  
“Whatever happens, remember I love you,” Buck says under his breath.  
Steve nearly chokes on his tongue. “What?!” he hisses.  
“Because you’re my husband,” Buck nods to the table, and Steve catches a glimpse of a picture pressed into the cover of the pocketwatch. A close up of two men’s faces, their arms around each other's shoulders.  
There is an odd, painful lurch in Steve’s guts. _Buck has a plan, that’s all it is. A plan._  
It doesn’t quell the strange, sorrowful weight in his throat. Steve swallows, pushing it away.

Before Steve can work out what the hell to say, the door lock clicks open and the Sheriff comes shuffling into the office. He takes a minute to catch his breath and pushes the door shut behind him. Steve recognises him from the picture.  
“Sorry about the wait, been having some issues,” the Sheriff says, dropping more paperwork on the desk. He glances at their joined hands, but doesn’t comment.  
“Something wrong?” Steve asks politely.  
The Sheriff sighs. “Yes, something very wrong.” He takes a sip of coffee, grimaces when he realises it’s cold but doesn’t spit it out. “You ever heard of Saturnine?”  
Steve shakes his head, but Buck nods. “It’s a mood disorder?”  
The Sheriff nods. “When this place got terraformed a few little quirks popped up. One is that the water supply, when left in it’s natural state with pretty little reed beds and so on, is fine. When you start mining, tear up those pretty reeds and stir up the sediment, well then you got problems. Cramps if you’re lucky, infertility, nerve damage if you’re less so. Most of that can be treated with calcium, which he got no shortage of here.” He takes another sip of cold coffee. “About ten percent of folks get behavioural problems. Hallucinations, psychosis. Can be treated with lithium, if you get it regular you can live like a person, not like some animal kept in a cage.”  
Buck flinches, and Steve grips his hand a little tighter.  
The Sheriff seems to notice, but keeps talking. “We got some here, but it’s rarer, much harder to refine. Mayor Carson would rather sell it than share it out it amongst his loyal workers.” The Sheriff looks down at his pocket watch on the desk. “And our shipment just got stolen from the train you two were on.”  
Steve lets his eyes fall shut. Buck grips his hand so hard his knuckles turn white.  
“So,” the Sheriff continues. “Won’t be seeing any parades in town today.”  
Steve nods, understanding. “Can you get a replacement? Another delivery?”  
The Sheriff shakes his head. “One delivery of lithium salts every calendar month.”

The Sheriff reads through their travel documents again. “Don’t see many folks here who weren’t born to this life. What are you folks doing out here?” he asks.  
Steve glances at Buck, who sits forward. “Well, sir. I’m an engineer by trade, my partner here was a Foreman back on Manhattan.” He makes a show of swallowing nervously. “Folks didn’t take kindly to us being… well, us. So we came here.”  
“Thought you’d try your luck on one of the outlier moons, huh?” the Sheriff mutters, not unkindly.  
Buck shakes his head. “I got a cousin out here, Grigori. He said there were jobs going for folks willing to work.”  
The Sheriff snorts. “Grigori? You’re one of the old abuela’s boys.”  
Buck nods. “Yes, sir.”  
The Sheriff looks down at his report and chews on his lip for a minute. “You know Luis?” he asks after a long pause.  
Buck grins at him. “Everyone knows Luis. Though most folks don’t feel the need to put up a statue of him in town.”  
The Sheriff’s mouth twitches in an approximation of a smile. “Little bastard caused the mayor a whole heap of trouble a few years back. Stole a safe and cracked it open over the town. It rained money for half a day, untraceable. Carson had to swallow his pride and declare it a workers bonus.” He smiles again, this time genuine. “These are tough times, folks need to be able to look up to someone.”  
Buck nods appreciatively. “They could do worse than look to Luis.”  
“These are tough times,” the Sheriff sighs. “Gotta take work where you can find it.”  
“Ain’t that the truth,” Steve murmurs.  
The Sheriff sits back and tosses the documents onto the desk. “You’re free to go,” he says, pulling the next stack of reports closer.  
Steve reaches forward and gathers up their papers, and Buck murmurs a thank you as he stands, tugging Steve up with him.  
The Sheriff grunts noncommittally as they push their way out the door, giving the woman waiting outside a nod as they pass her by.  
They walk through the empty station and out onto the street, and Steve realises that they are still holdings hands. He doesn’t draw Buck’s attention to it, or try to let go.  
They stand in silence for a moment, watching the people of Kaolin walk past. Buck softly count the prosthetic hands, the prosthetic feet, the telling, unsteady walk of people with false limbs.  
“Fuck,” Buck says vehemently.  
Steve nods beside him. “Fuck.”

_The wall implodes, showering the unit with rubble and flaming twists of metal, and the bunker is overrun.  
Steve’s voice is hoarse from screaming orders, from breathing in more dust than air as the sky lights up around them. Morita gets swarmed, but goes down fighting. Dernier goes down, taking a dozen or more SHIELD soldiers with him as he pulls the pins on the bandolier of grenades slung over his shoulder. His final roar of defiance is still ringing in Steve’s ears as he picks away at what’s left of them, the hammer of his pistol clicking uselessly after he fires his last bullet. He takes shelter behind the remains of a wall, fumbling through his pockets for more ammo.  
Nothing. Fuck.  
He can hear the creeping sounds of SHIELD soldiers picking their way through the rubble, looking for easy targets, and searches his pockets again. Fuck. He grabs a chunk of rock from the wall, feeling the heft of it, and scrambles to his feet.  
There is a SHIELD officer waiting, who raises his gun and takes aim. Steve flinches, and a figure comes out of the shadows, tearing down upon them.  
The stranger doesn’t pause, just raises his fist and punches the soldier in the jaw, sending him spinning. He grabs the gun out of the soldiers slack hand and shoots him once in the face. He’s wearing the brown jacket of a freedom fighter.  
“Now that’s what I’m talking about,” he shouts triumphantly at the dead body, then finally notices Steve hunched in the corner. “...A very unfortunate situation. Is what it is,” he adds weakly.  
Steve gives him a weary nod. “Captain Steve Rogers,” he introduces himself. “Thanks.”  
“No problem, man,” the guy shoves the gun into an empty holster and starts searching the body. He finds a box of ammo and throws it over to Steve.  
“What’s your name, soldier?” Steve asks, reloading his gun.  
“Luis,” the guy answers, making a happy little sound when he finds a ration pack. “You want some candy?”  
Steve nods, and Luis throws him one of the two bars in the ration pack.  
“So, I was stationed with a bunch of guys, but they all got exploded or ran away,” Luis remarks, taking a bite of candy. “Mind if I tag along with you a while?”  
Steve can’t help but smile at his infectious grin. “Sure. Long as you want.”_

They walk the mile north to the meeting point, finding the ship hidden in an abandoned quarry. The patchy, rust-coloured hull seems like the brightest thing on the whole damn moon, lit by the setting sun as they pick their way down the rocky slope towards it.  
The Cargo Bay doors are already open, and Natasha is sat on the ramp. Pietro and Wanda are walking in idle circles around the flat basin of the quarry in the fading light, picking up stones and tossing them at each other, clearly bored but reluctant to go back inside while there’s still daylight.  
Natasha spots them coming and moves gracefully to her feet. “Where the hell have you been?” she snaps.  
Steve doesn’t answer, focusing on getting down the quarry floor without falling and breaking his neck. Buck grabs his shoulder when the rubble at his feet starts to shift, keeping him upright until he finds his balance again.  
He gives the back of Buck's hand a gentle tap in thanks, and they continue climbing down.  
By the time they reach the ship, the whole crew is out. Sam gives them both a surreptitious once over while Natasha puts her hands on her hips and glares.  
“What the hell happened?”  
Steve ignores her, heading up the ramp to the Cargo Bay.  
“We’re fine,” Buck explains. “Just got pulled in for questioning.”  
“They buy your story?” Clint looks worried.  
Buck holds up his hands. “We’re here, aren’t we?”  
Steve comes back down the ramp, carrying the cargo.  
“What are you doing?” Pietro comes over to see what’s going on, Wanda close behind him.  
“Taking it back,” Steve answers flatly.

There is a sudden burst of swearing, and Steve grits his teeth as the crew start making a fuss and shouting over each other.  
“That’s enough,” he yells. “You have any idea what’s in here? Medical supplies. We’re taking it back.”  
“What kind of medical supplies?” Sam asks.  
“Cap, you can’t be serious,” Natasha’s voice rings out. “You ever wonder why it’s so hard to find work? It’s because you keep pulling stunts like this.”  
Steve comes to a sudden stop. He carefully lowers the box to the ground and turns around. “What?” he asks quietly, dangerously.  
“No one will hire you because of your goddamned principles, Cap.” Natasha folds her hands across her chest. “You’re unreliable, you bail out of perfectly good work just because of you precious morals. You’re getting a reputation”  
“Hey, Nat. Take it easy,” Luis murmurs.  
She hisses at him. “The war’s over Steve, you lost.”  
“Hey, watch your mouth,” Luis yelps, taking a step forward, only to be intercepted by Clint.  
“You carry on like this we’ll be adrift. No work, no prospects…”  
Steve bites the inside of his cheek, tasting blood. He barely notices Buck step between him and Natasha.  
“That’s enough,” Buck says softly. “I know you ain’t happy about this Nat, but these people need this medicine. And yeah, maybe some people will talk about how Steve won’t do their dirty work, but a lot more people won’t see that as a bad thing.” He holds his hand up, placating. “We’ll find another job. Just back off, okay?”  
She looks briefly startled at Buck’s calm tone, but quickly regains composure, snorting at him before turning away.  
“So what’s the plan,” Luis breaks the awkward silence. “You just gonna haul it back into town and hope they don’t arrest you?”  
Steve shakes his head, tired and frustrated and heartsick. “No,” he sighs.  
Buck scratches his chin for a minute, and lets out a sudden, sharp laugh.  
“What,” Luis shifts nervously as Buck grins at him. “You’re making me kind of uncomfortable, grinning like that, Buck. It’s enough to give a guy some concerns. Do I got something on me?” Luis pats at his shirt. “Is there, like, some huge-ass spider crawling on me? What’s going on, brah?”  
“He’s not going to take it,” Buck points to Luis. “You are.”

Clint pilots the ship to a clearing just outside of town, setting down behind an outcrop of rocks as the sun disappears over the horizon.  
The rest of the crew are under strict orders to stay on the ship, and Steve will have to soothe a lot of ruffled feathers later.  
The plan is simple enough, the three of them sneak into town, dump the cargo under the statue and get the hell out before someone sees them.  
Steve glances over at Buck and swallows a sigh. That’s a whole other mess he doesn’t know how to deal with. His fingers still tingle, a fading memory of hands clasped around his.  
At least Luis will get to see his statue, even if it is under cover of darkness.  
Steve checks the cargo while Luis fusses over the buggy, adjusting the straps securing it in place in the Cargo Bay.  
“They really got a statue of me in town?”  
Buck looks up from where he’s sat on the rear wheel arch of the buggy. “Yup. They leave flowers and little pieces of clay under it.”  
“Wow,” Luis says quietly. “I mean, that’s some serious. Like. Wow.” He checks the buckles for the tenth time. “Still, maybe someone else should go.”  
Buck snorts. “Are you kidding me? You don’t wanna at least go check it out? A statue of you? Built by these folks who love you.”  
“They don’t love me, they love the memory of me. Okay, well not even the memory of me but what I did, which I didn’t even mean to do in the first place. Like, I’m an idealised notion, that kind of deal.” Luis tugs on a strap. “What if the real thing is disappointing? And that ain’t fair on them, they need a thing to believe in, even if they gotta make do with a fella like me.”  
Steve closes the cargo up with a snap. “Luis, there are a lot of statues out there in the ‘verse. Statues of men who ain’t worth a damn, who never did a decent thing for their fellow man, not even once.” He gives Luis a lopsided smile. “You honestly telling me that if you’d gotten the safe open, you would have kept your share all to yourself? Wouldn’t have made sure your cousin got a piece? And if he’d mentioned some folks going through tough times, you seriously telling me they wouldn’t have found a handful of cash about their persons, and no way of explaining how it came to them?”  
Luis shrugs, which is enough of an answer.  
Steve punches the controls for the Cargo Bay doors. “Come on, let’s go.”  
Luis picks up the crate as the doors open and walks down the ramp, Steve and Buck either side of him. They step down onto the dry, cracked dirt, kicking up a cloud of dust by the light of the Kitsune.  
The Sheriff and a handful of well armed deputies are waiting for them.

“Well,” the Sheriff says, keeping his shotgun trained on the three of them. “Didn’t expect to see you folks again.”  
Steve raises his hands over his head, Buck following suit. Luis is still holding the cargo, but stays where he is.  
“Didn’t expect to be seen,” Steve answers truthfully.  
The Sheriff sends one of his deputies to take the crate from him. The man shines his torch in Luis’ face.  
“Hey, man! Easy with the flashlight, okay? You could do a guy some serious damage there.”  
“Everything accounted for?” the Sheriff asks sharply.  
The deputy drops the torch in a panic, and scuffles around in the dirt for it.  
“Here, buddy. Let me help you out,” Luis says helpfully, settling the crate on the ground and unlatching it.  
The deputy finds his torch, fumbling around in the gloom until his fingers brush against it. He flicks it on again and checks the crate. “All here, sir,” he calls.  
Luis seals up the crate again and hands it over. The deputy trips over his own feet, but manages to stay upright as he carries the cargo back to the Sheriff.  
“It’s _him_ ,” he hisses in the Sheriff's ear, half panicked, half excited.  
The Sheriff frowns, and shines his own torch on Luis, who gives him an awkward wave. “Sheriff, long time no see. How’s it going, man? And your husband, he still doing that decoupage shit?”  
The Sheriff lets out a soft huff and lowers his shotgun, motioning to his deputies to do the same. “He’ll be a lot better now, once he gets his medicine.”  
Steve flinches at that.  
Luis turns to Buck and points at the Sheriff. “His fella does this crazy good stuff where you decorate boxes with, you know, little bits of paper and glue? Like, intricate, it’s wild.”  
The Sheriff clears his throat and Luis falls silent.  
“I meant what I said before, these are tough times. A man has to take whatever work he can find.” The Sheriff looks carefully at Steve. “and maybe not look too closely at what the job entails. But if he should happen to learn the details, then he has a choice.”  
“No he doesn’t,” Steve answers flatly.  
The Sheriff nods. “He doesn’t.”

“Well,” the Sheriff looks up at the Kitsune. He smiles at her mismatched hull. “You got other folks on board?”  
Steve hesitates, then nods. He doesn’t offer a number.  
“If Carson finds out you were here, he’ll have your throats cut and your bodies dumped in the marshes.” The Sheriff flashes them a sudden smile. “So you’ll need to be gone by sun up.”  
“No problem, sir. We’ll be long gone,” Luis assures him.  
The Sheriff turns and waves to his deputies. “Come on boys, we got a celebration to organise. Get your asses back into town, tell folks Luis has returned and he’s brought our medicine.”  
The younger deputies let out whoops and cheers until they get yelled at to settle down by the woman deputy Steve recognises from the station.  
“Alright,” she hollers. “Scott, you see what liquor you can scare up. John, you get as bonfire going, there’s a stack of old pallets out back of the jailhouse. Bobby, you get this medicine to the folks that need it.”  
Steve watches, dumbstruck, as they get to work.

The Sheriff watches with approval. “Good work, Jean.”  
She tips her head to him and follows after her men, yelling at them when they start to tarry.  
“Hell of a woman,” Luis says appreciatively.  
The Sheriff nods. “Kicks our asses on the regular.” He gives the three of them a nod. “We’ll see you folks shortly.”  
“What the hell is going on?” Steve mutters under his breath.  
Buck pats him on the shoulder. “It’s all good, Steve.”  
“Yeah, Cap,” Luis agrees. “Shit’s actually going our way for once.”  
Buck opens the comms to the rest of the crew. “Guys, get down here. Town’s throwing a party for Luis and we’re all invited.”  
He turns off his comms before Clint’s screeching deafens him and throws his arm around Steve’s shoulder. “C’mon, darlin’. Make the most of it before our luck turns south.”  
Steve flushes pink and curls an arm around Bucks waist, hand resting lightly on his hip.  
“Fine,” he mutters, “But I ain’t dancing.”  
Buck’s grin stretches wider. “Oh, you think?” he gives Steve a gentle shake as they start walking towards the town as somewhere in the distance a band strikes up a tune.

The people of Kaolin know how to celebrate.  
By the time the crew arrive there is a bonfire blazing in the middle of town square, scrap wood and dry reeds filling the air with sweet scented smoke. A band of musicians play, their guitars battered and their bows in need of restringing, but the music is sweet and the rhythm strong, and people dance along.  
Wanda is a natural, throwing herself into the middle of the crowd in her big combat boots and flowing skirt, and half the people in town spin her around the fire at one point or another. Her brother keeping pace with her and dancing with every girl that can catch up to him. He teases a little, but runs slow for a change.  
Even Clint and Natasha take a few spins around the square, and Steve realises with a painful jolt that it’s been a long time since he’s seen Natasha laugh.  
Sam is in his element, cup of liquor in one hand, his other around a pretty young woman who is hanging on his every word, and Steve doubts he’ll spend the night in his own bed.  
If the medicine wasn’t enough, Luis distributes the rest of the SHIELD issued nutrient bars. No one had argued against the idea, partly because it made Luis so damned happy, but also the whole crew were sick of eating the damn things.  
Steve watches the party from the edge of the firelight, his back against a low wall surrounding the square, and admits that it’s mostly because it makes Luis so damned happy.  
He’s well hidden, but Buck still manages to find him.

“Not dancing,” Buck asks softly, holding out a cup of local homebrew.  
Steve shakes his head. “I got two left feet.”  
He takes the offered cup, shifting over as Buck sits down next to him, giving him a gentle bump with his shoulder. Steve takes a sip from his cup and nearly gags, and Buck sniggers.  
“What the fuck is this,” Steve rasps, staring into the cup.  
“Fresh, ain’t it? Made with bean pods or something.” Buck swallows a mouthful from his own cup, smacking his lips noisily.  
Steve weighs up his options, and takes another sip. It hurts a little less, and he can only assume that the liquor is burning off any last remaining taste buds the first mouthful didn’t get.  
“You alright?” Buck asks quietly.  
“Aside from the hole being burned into my stomach?”  
Buck nods, and for a moment Steve feels his mouth fill up with words. Words about the feel of Bucks hands clasped around his, the shape of his mouth around the word-  
Steve takes another sip of liquor and swallows them down, and it feels like choking.  
“Quick thinking today,” he says instead. “You got a knack for crime.”  
Buck snorts and leans into him, letting his head rest on Steve’s shoulder.  
“That mean you gonna take me out on more jobs?”  
Steve huffs. “Hell, no!”  
They watch the townspeople dance. Buck lets out a soft exhalation and falls asleep.


	6. Oboroten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Buck looks around and makes sure that the Cargo Bay is empty before clearing his throat.  
> “Wanda? You hear me, babydoll?”  
> Something brushes across his mind, a familiar presence. _Yes_  
>  Buck nods, trying to keep his thoughts clear and in order. “Where’s Steve?”  
> There is a long silence, and he swallows the urge to ask again, focusing on taking slow, even breaths.  
>  _Gone_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *slides fic across table*  
> Soooo  
> *Runs away*

Steve loads the last crate onto the shuttle and climbs outside, wiping the sweat off his brow. Of all the bodies in this corner of the ‘verse, A13 was the worst, so lacking in redeeming features that it never even got a proper name. And why would it? The smallest of the moons orbiting ‘Cisco, and despite terraforming, all it had to offer was medium to low grade sand and mild to moderate heatstroke.  
He huffs and unscrews his canteen of water, already unpleasantly warm in the heat, and watches Sharon rifle through the dashboard of the all terrain armoured vehicle. The bounty they’d knocked it over for (Steve snorts to himself. Literally knocked it over. Bucky was going to pitch a fit when he sees the dents in the shuttle) was secured, but he knew Sharon well enough to know she’d shake down a target for every last coin.  
“Sharon,” he calls across the sand. “We’re all squared away. Let's go.”  
She climbs out of the cab, waving a ration pack. The damn thing is probably nothing more than a few slices of pressed protein and a couple of stale crackers, but she seems pleased with her haul.  
“All cleared for takeoff?” she asks, peering at the label on the sealed foil packet.  
Steve screws the cap back on his canteen and drops it on the ground, taking a moment to kick sand over it before she gets any closer.  
No trusting that woman.  
“Yeah, course set to meet up with the Kitsune,” he calls across the short distance between them. “Rest of the crew will start getting twitchy if we don’t get moving.”  
Sharon laughs, brushing her long blonde hair out of her eyes. “Sure they will. You keep telling yourself that.”  
Steve smiles warily. “Yeah. All the same, I ain’t inclined to stick around.”  
She sighs, reaching down the front of her shirt and pulling out a gun.  
_Damnit._

“Well we have a problem then, because I’m sure as hell not taking you with me.”  
Steve throws his hands up in the air when she points the gun at him. “Come on now, Sharon. We had a deal.”  
“Deal’s changed,” she smiles, walking towards him. “Now move away from the shuttle.”  
“Aw Sharon, seriously!” Steve groans. “We’ve got a good thing here, an even split. We can still walk away, no need for violence.”  
She aims and fires, and the ground in front of Steve’s feet explodes in a shower of sand and rubble. He stumbles away from the shuttle, keeping his hands up.  
“Hey!” he snaps. “I’m moving, alright?”  
She smirks and takes aim, and the ground to Steve’s left burst apart, spraying him with gravel and more goddamned sand. Steve sidesteps until he’s well clear of the shuttle.  
She steps through the open doorway, keeping the gun pointed in his direction while she reaches for the console and taps in a new set of coordinates.  
“Will you at least give me my shuttle back when you’re done?” Steve calls out.  
She smirks at him and shakes her head. “You should have listened to Natasha.”  
Steve lets his hands drop a little. “I am never gonna hear the end of this.”  
Don’t trust her, Nat had said. Kick her out the airlock, Nat had said. But then again, she said that about most people. The ‘verse would be a lot less populous if she was in charge, and space would have a severe littering problem.  
“You know what your problem is, Steve?” Sharon asks, climbing out of the shuttle, her gun still on him.  
He shrugs. “Yes, but you’re gonna tell me anyway.”  
“You’re too trusting,” she snaps. “With your big blue eyes and your heart of gold. All your soft vulnerable parts exposed to the world.” She laughs. “You make it so easy to stick the knife in.”  
“Yeah, that must be terrible for you,” he mutters.  
Sharon huffs and adjusts the grip on her gun. “Alright then,” she tilts her head. “You like being so open, take it off.”  
Steve looks down at himself. “What?”  
“You heard me,” Sharon gestures to him with her gun. “Strip.”

Steve gives up on appealing to Sharon's better nature when she climbs into the shuttle with his clothes and boots.  
“Seriously, you’re gonna leave me to die out here?” he yells after her.  
“Oh, Steve,” she smiles sweetly. “Lets face it, you’re just not very good at being a criminal.”  
Steve throws up his hands. “Are you gonna tell the crew where I am?”  
She shakes her head. “They’re reasonably smart people, I’m sure they’ll find you eventually.” She gives him a wave and pulls the shuttle door closed.  
“Sharon, come on. We had a deal. Just… Just give me back my pants and we can still finish the trade.” The engine starts up and he throws his hands up in the air. “Look, we’ll go to Batroc, and you can keep the money, the whole score! It’s yours, no questions asked. Just. Open the door?” he lets his hands fall to his sides. “Sharon, please. Not my ship.”  
The engine idles and the door cracks open.  
“Oh, sweetheart,” Sharon says with a smile.  
Steve takes a hesitant step forward and she tosses the ration pack onto the sand before slamming the door shut.  
“Sharon!” Steve yells as the shuttle lifts off the ground, whipping up the sand and debris around him. He blinks, his eyes stinging in the dust storm, and shields his face with his arms.  
When he lowers his hands, the shuttle is a distant speck on the horizon  
Steve rests his hands on his hips and wriggles his toes in the dirt. His foot catches the half buried canteen of water.  
“Yeah,” he sighs. “That went well.”

He’s sitting on a rock, sipping from his canteen when the Kitsune lands. He chews and swallows, watching as the ramp lowers onto the sand and the airlock doors hiss open. Natasha comes out first, drawing back when she see’s him.  
“Oh,” she murmurs.  
“Hey Nat,” Steve holds up the ration packet. “Want a cracker?”  
She shakes her head, keeping her gaze firmly at eye level. Steve shrugs and fishes another cracker out of the packet, tossing it into his mouth and chewing.  
Luis comes clattering down the ramp, not even pausing at the sight of a naked captain eating emergency rations, and throws his arms around Steve’s shoulders. “Cap! You’re not dead! Thank fuck for that, man. I mean, crazy lady didn’t say like, explicit that she’d shot you, but she was kind of hinting really loudly, and I thought Buck was gonna twist her arm off or something.” Steve raises his eyebrows. “She’s fine, she’s fine. Whole thing went to plan. It was beautiful, man! She didn’t suspect a thing.” Luis finally takes in the sight of Steve. “You need some suncream, brah?”  
Steve snorts and shakes his head, looking up at the ship and seeing Buck come down the ramp.  
Steve eases out of Luis’ arms and stands up. “So the plan worked?”  
“Yeah, Buck rigged the shuttle up good. It shut down about four miles out and did an emergency landing. All fine except for a few dents in the hull. He’s real sorry about that, he’ll get it fixed good as new, yeah?” Luis slaps him on his bare chest. “Got all the cargo stowed on board and dealt with the crazy lady. She was pissed, I mean spitting nails, you know?”  
Steve snorts. “I bet. Where is she now?”  
“Right where we found her, though Clint may have alerted the fine, upstanding young enforcement officers of this here moon.” Luis looks shifty. “So, we might want to get moving in case we get, you know? Hoisted on our own petard and shit.”  
Steve pats Luis on the back. “Well pity the poor souls that pick her up. Come on, we got stolen goods to deliver.”

Buck is waiting at the bottom of the ramp, his sleeves rolled up to the elbows and the sun flashing on the exposed strip of metal forearm as he tucks his hands into his pockets.  
Steve holds out the foil packet. “Cracker?”  
Bucky takes one, giving it a cursory exam before nibbling at it. “I didn’t know you had a tattoo,” he murmurs, tapping the cracker against his lower lip.  
Steve glances at his shoulder where there is a stylised wing etched in dark blue, it’s partner on his opposite shoulder. “Yeah, sigil of our unit back in the army. The SSR. We all got drunk one night out on leave and got matching tattoos.”  
“I got mine down here,” Luis announces, placing both hands on his hips, fingers pointing inwards. “They look like elephant ears!”  
Natasha grabs the back of Luis’ shirt and drags him up the ramp.  
“... Because it looks like an elephant’s trunk!” Luis calls out as he’s pulled into the Cargo Bay.  
Steve tries to keep a straight face, but Buck screws his eyes shut and lets out a chuckle, and that sets Steve off. He claps his hand over his chest and laughs while Buck wipes his eyes.  
“Come on,” Buck says softly. “Sam wants to check you’re not dying or anything, least you can do is put some pants on first.”  
They walk up the ramp side by side, shoulders brushing.  
“Yeah,” Steve laughs. “That went well.”

Steve tells Clint to plot a course for Wheaton, waiting for him to confirm that they’re en route with time of arrival before he heads down to the retrieved shuttle to get dressed. As funny as it is to see Natasha not knowing where to look for a change, he needs to put on clothes before Wanda spies him and starts asking awkward questions. He finds his gear where Sharon had dumped it behind the pilot seat and dresses before heading over to the Infirmary.  
Aside from being a little dehydrated, he gets the all clear from Sam, who gives him a bottle of water to drink and tells him to keep his pants on no matter how many women are pointing guns at him. Steve laughs him off and heads down to the Cargo Bay to make sure the goods are all present and undamaged by their little detour.  
He had to give Natasha credit for the plan. Sharon had approached them with the deal - a heist with a buyer all set up, but needed a shuttlecraft and partner to make it work. And it sounded good, but Natasha had been quick to point out that anyone who worked with Sharon tended to end up dead. But a job was a job, so she’d come up with a plan of her own.  
He wasn’t worried about leaving Sharon behind, she was smart and ruthless, and could take care of herself. Things would be a lot simpler if he could just work with people he trusted once in a while.  
He sighs and starts loading the cargo onto the buggy. They’d be at the drop in a couple of hours, so still a ways to go before the day was over.

The descent is not one of Clint’s finest, and he hollers apologies to the crew as the ship gets buffeted by a thunderstorm once they break atmo. Buck hunkers down in the Engine room to put out any fires, both figurative and literal, while the rest of the crew gather on the bridge to watch the lightning. Wanda hunches up in the co-pilot seat, counting down between the cracks of thunder and the flashes of lightning.  
Clint has, for reasons beyond Steve, decided to teach Wanda how to be a pilot. Mostly she just sits next to him and watches him work, her green eyes silently taking everything in.  
Nothing snaps off the ship, though it gives a mighty lurch after an impressive bolt of lightning hits the hull, and Clint manages to land on one piece, talking to Wanda the whole time about crosswind and windbanks and drift. The rest of the crew cling to whatever they can and try to stay upright.  
“Hey, we’re not dead!” Clint says cheerfully, shutting off the engine.  
Steve opens the comms to the Engine room. “We all in one piece?” he asks.  
There’s a crackle and a hiss before he gets a response. “Mmm. Mostly.”  
“What d’you mean mostly?”  
“Nothing to worry about. Just… got a little bit fried is all.”  
Steve bites back a curse. “What’s fried?”  
“Propulsion drive system. Must’ve been a loose panel around the tail or something. But thrusters are working fine, otherwise we wouldn’t be on the ground. But fusion reactors out of whack, so we’ll not be breaking atmosphere any time soon.”  
Steve doesn’t hold back on the cursing this time. “Can you fix it?”  
Buck snorts. “Actually, yeah. Reactors undamaged, it’s just the electrics. It’ll take a while, I just need to strip it down and go through the wiring, replace the shortages and reboot the system.”  
Steve lets out a sigh of relief. “Okay, well you get to work on that. I want the ship up and running when we get back from the drop off.”  
Buck snorts. “Yeah, and I want a shiny hat and to be crowned king of all Bohemia.”  
Steve huffs and signs off, since Buck is no doubt already getting down to work. He turns to the rest of the crew. “Alright, let's get to work.”

Steve hits the controls for the Cargo Bay doors. “Okay, Luis, you’re driving. Nat, you’re… You. I’m not anticipating any trouble, but still, eyes open.”  
Nat gives a terse nod and sits on the back of the buggy, checking her gun and holstering it. Steve sits up front with Luis, gripping the edge of his bucket seat as Luis guns the engine and sends them speeding down the ramp.  
The drop off isn’t too far from where they landed, a mining planet almost completely stripped of resources. The remaining population eke out a trade from residual trapped gasses and aggregate. Steve frowns at the abandoned quarries and derelict mines they pass by. As time wears on it’s becoming more of an issue, SHIELD strip-mining the outer planets and leaving them in ruins.  
Steve spots the bar the exchange is being made at up ahead and points it out.  
“Okay, pull up around back, no sense in drawing attention to ourselves.”  
He grips onto his seat as Luis spins the wheels, the buggy drifting sideways across the dirt road.  
“Whoops!” Luis calls cheerfully. “We’re fine! We’re fine! Just gonna back it up a little!”  
He maneuvers the buggy into the clearing behind the bar and turns off the engine. Nat lets out a little grumble of relief as Steve slowly unclenches his white knuckled fists, leaving finger shaped indents in the padding of his seat.  
Luis drums on the wheel. “Okay, Cap. What’s the plan?”  
“We go in and wait for our buyer,” Steve clenches and unclenches his fists, trying to get his circulation going again.  
Luis bounces on the balls of his feet. “Alright, Cap’s buying!”  
Natasha snorts as she climbs down from her perch amongst the cargo. “You heard him, Cap,” she says, walking towards the bar. “First round’s on you.”

Buck hums to himself and fixes the last panel in place. He collects up his singed scraps of wires, kicking the cutters towards his open toolbox in the corner. He yawns and stretches, sore from spending too damn long being crouched over in confined spaces. Still, it’s done, and maybe he has enough time to get onto the hull and find that loose panel before Steve gets back.  
Buck frowns and opens the comms to the ship. “Did Steve get back?”  
It’s a dumb question, if Steve was back already, the first thing he’d do would be to come down to the Engine room and get underfoot.  
The comms crackle and he hears Clint over the line. “Nope. No sign.”  
Buck bundles up the wires and tosses them into the recycling. He can hear the thin edge of nerves in Clints voice. Not quite worried, but heading in that direction.  
Buck purses his lips thoughtfully. If he goes into town and nothing's wrong, they’re just waiting for their contact? Well, Steve will complain for a week about Buck leaving the ship, even if it’s just a backwater planet with a population just above nothing.  
They’re probably still waiting, but it can’t hurt to check.  
“Hey Clint?” he calls. “What say you go into town, maybe have a drink with the missus, see what’s going on?”  
There is a long pause. “Yeah, I might just do that,” Clint answers.  
Bucky digs his climbing gear out from under the reactor, strapping on the harness before fetching his welding gear and some scraps of hull plating from the last repair job. He packs it all into his toolbag along with his thickest gloves, and checks the welder has enough power. He shakes out his hair and gathers it up in a tight bun, fixing it in place with a band, and heads outside.  
It doesn’t take long to find the loose panel, halfway up the right side of the tail. Buck climbs up the curve of the ship and clips the harness into place, leaving him dangling, his legs knocking against the hull. He checks the harness is secure before unpacking his welding gear and pulling on his gloves. The harness is awkward to work with, and though a fall from this height wouldn’t kill him, he really needs both hands to do the repairs. The arc of electric current from the welder sets something itching in the back of his mind, something nasty and well-hidden scratches at the edge of his memory. The sharp white snap of a current through his synapses. The taste of the leather mouthguard forced between his teeth.  
Buck turns off the welder and takes slow, steady breaths until his hands stop shaking. He fires up the welder again and gets back to work.

Buck has welded the loose panel back into place and done repairs on several weak-looking joins when he hears the sound of the buggy approaching.  
He shuts off the welder and unclips the harness, clambering down to the ground and dropping the last few feet, landing with a soft thump. He ducks under the tail and comes around to meet the approaching buggy, gathering up his gear to drop off in the Cargo Bay.  
When the buggy pulls up the ramp, Steve isn’t on board. Nor is Natasha.  
Buck opens up the comms. “Sam, get down here. We got wounded.”  
He hurries over to the buggy as Clint shuts off the engine, looking down to where Luis is slumped in the passenger seat.  
He’s unconscious, the side of his face bloody from a wound just under his hairline.  
“Luis,” Buck says softly, pressing a finger to his throat and feeling for a pulse. “Hey, pal, can you hear me?”  
Luis lets out a low whine as Buck brushes careful fingers across his scalp. He glances up at Clint, whose eyes are tight, his mouth a flat line. The cargo is still loaded on the buggy.  
“What happened?” Buck asks sharply.  
Clint shakes his head. “When I got there Luis was like this.”  
“The others?”  
Clint shakes his head. “Asked inside, no one had seen them.”  
Sam comes thundering down the stairs with his MedKit. “What the hell happened?” he calls, pulling a flashlight out of his pocket.”  
“Found him parked out back of the bar. No sign of the others,” Clint mutters.  
Sam pulls back one of Luis’ eyelids and flashes light into his eye, tutting to himself.  
Buck looks at the cargo still in place on the buggy. Not even searched through.  
“Everything is still here. Whatever they were after, it wasn’t the haul.”  
Sam carefully prods at Luis’ scalp. “Blunt force trauma. Hit with a heavy object. I need to get him to the Infirmary.”  
Clint takes Luis by the legs while Sam takes his shoulders, and together they lift him out of the buggy and towards the stairs.  
Buck doesn’t notice them go, staring down at the smear of blood on his hand from where he touched Luis’ neck. Luis was tough, he could take a punch. Whoever took him down wasn’t after the cargo, which left only one explanation.  
They wanted Steve and Natasha.

Buck looks around and makes sure that the Cargo Bay is empty before clearing his throat.  
“Wanda? You hear me, babydoll?”  
Something brushes across his mind, a familiar presence. _Yes_  
Buck nods, trying to keep his thoughts clear and in order. “Where’s Steve?”  
There is a long silence, and he swallows the urge to ask again, focusing on taking slow, even breaths.  
_Gone_  
He swears out loud, pressing his clenched fist to his mouth. Fuck. It takes a full minute to calm his breathing. The urge to put his metal fist through the Cargo Bay doors doesn’t pass.  
“What happened?”  
He can feel Wanda pressing against his thoughts, prodding at his anger, at his fear. Testing the weight of them, the shape of them. He has a sudden flash of Natasha kicking a thickset man in the face. A hand around Steve’s throat, his face screwed up as he struggles against the assault. Too many. An ambush.  
“Are they dead?” The words are out before he means to ask them. The answer is mercifully quick.  
_No_  
He lets out a low sound, something pulled out from deep under his ribcage.  
“Steve,” he breathes. Like a prayer, like a plea.

“Is he gonna be okay?” Clint asks Sam as they gently lay Luis down on the gurney.  
Sam nods, turning to the med scanner. “Not a power in the ‘verse can keep Luis down for long.”  
“Yeah,” Clint nods. “Sometimes you wanna strangle him.”  
Sam gives Clint a careful look. “You alright?”  
Clint lets out a huff and raises his chin. “Nat can take care of herself.”  
Sam doesn’t force it, turning back to the med scanner and checking Luis’ vitals.  
Clint fetches a bottle of alcohol and some wipes, and starts cleaning Luis up while Sam works.  
They hear Buck running down the walkway to the infirmary before they see him appear in the doorway.  
“The Russian job,” Buck snaps. “Who was it?”  
Sam grimaces at his sharp tone, but Clint answers. “Luchkov.”  
“Where is he?”  
There’s something in Buck’s voice that puts Sam on edge, makes him want to pick up the nearest sharp object and put as much distance as possible between them. Something grating, mechanical. Barely human. Clint picks up on it too, raising his hands slowly, bloody cloth still in his grasp.  
“Dacha,” Clint says calmly. “It’s a station orbiting-”  
“I don’t care,” Buck snaps. “Take us there. Now.”  
“Alright, man. Settle down.” Clint puts down the cloth and wipes his hands.  
“Now,” Buck snarls.  
Clint doesn’t offer up a sarcastic remark or try to argue, just passes Buck in the Infirmary doorway, keeping as much distance between them as he can, and heads up to the bridge.  
“Buck, what’s going on?” Sam asks quietly.  
Buck doesn’t answer, taking in Luis’ vitals before turning to the door. “Take care of him,” he orders before disappearing in the direction of the dorms.

Clint starts up the engines and plots a course for Dacha, glancing up from the controls when Wanda slips silently onto the bridge.  
“There’s my little albatross,” he mutters, bringing the propulsion systems online. He hopes that Buck’s repairs hold and they don’t all end up as a brief, spectacular firework display.  
The systems engage, and he pushes the ship as fast as he dares.  
“He’s scared,” Wanda says, watching the stars blur and fade. “So he’s gone away. But he’ll come back.”  
Clint offers her a noncommittal hum and allows himself a moment to worry about his wife.  
Luchkov.  
The Russian job back on Valhalla, the one they had bailed on. Natasha had said the Russians would come after them, and from the way Buck was acting, that’s what has happened.  
Wanda curled up in the co-pilot seat. “Don’t be afraid,” she murmurs. But it’s easier said than done.

_“What the hell is that supposed to be?” Natasha hisses.  
Clint withdraws his hand slowly, looking at the ring clenched in his fingers.  
“Isn’t it obvious,” he frowns. “I’m asking you to marry me.”  
She takes a step back. “Are you out of your mind? What the hell are you even thinking?”  
Clint shrugs. “I was thinking I love you and want to spend the rest of my life with you.”  
Natasha turns away, but Clint risks reaching out to grab her arm.  
“Look, if you’re not…” he swallows. “If this was just…”  
She snatches her arm away. “This? There is no ‘this’!”  
Clint falters, his expression crumbling.  
Natasha shakes her head. “This is just a respite, it’s not supposed to last.”  
“It’s not?”  
“Sooner or later Madame will find me. I know the Captain thinks he can keep us safe but he can’t.” Natasha reaches out to him, curling her fingers around his hand. “She doesn’t forgive, and when she comes for me I will cut my own fucking throat before I give her the satisfaction of breaking me.”  
“Nat,” Clint says quietly, horrified.  
She squeezes his hand. “Find yourself a nice girl, Clint. Someone who can give you children. Buy yourself a farm, I don’t care. Just. Do better than me.”  
Clint shakes his head fiercely. “There’s not a woman in the ‘verse better than you, Nat. I don’t want a nice girl and a farm, I want you.”  
He takes her hand and pushes the ring against her palm.  
“You’re not a coward, Nat. You’re the bravest person I ever met.” He gives her a small, hopeful smile. “So marry me. And maybe a week from now she’ll find you. Hell, maybe a year, ten years. But until then, you live, damnit. It doesn’t have to be with me, not if you don’t want me, but you gotta live darlin’. Understood?”  
She looks down at their joined hands. “Yeah. Understood.”_

Buck comes onto the bridge when they reach Dacha, a space station in orbit around a frozen moon.  
He looks… worse. His shoulders are rigid, his metal arm flexing and shifting restlessly. There is a brittle edge to his gaze, a hardness that Clint hasn’t seen there before, even in his worst fights with Steve.  
He’s clearly raided Luis’ armory, pistols at his hips, the semi-automatic that Steve pretends not to know about strapped to his back, half a dozen knives and Luis’ second favourite assault rifle, Verónica, strapped to his back. His metal fist is curled around a sawn off shotgun that Clint knows belongs to Natasha, and knives are not Luis’ style either. Clint swallows. “This is bad,” he utters.  
Wanda turns in her seat and reaches up to Buck, curling her delicate fingers around his metal wrist. The touch doesn’t calm him, he barely seems to notice it, but she keeps her hand on his while Clint brings the ship up in range.  
He’s already fired up the static, a piece of kit Buck had rigged up a while back to jam short range sensor readings for when they wanted to go places and didn’t want to be seen doing so.  
Buck tilts his head to one side as Clint steers the ship towards a promising looking service dock and points to the main bay.  
“There.”  
His voice is low, grating. Strange.  
“What?” Clint hisses. “You seriously want to just go knock on the front door?!”  
Buck doesn’t answer. Wanda squeezes his wrist. “It will take too long to find them otherwise, and we’ll lose the element of surprise,” Wanda says, keeping her gaze fixed on Buck.  
Clint lets out a heavy sigh. “You’re the boss. Apparently.”

Buck stalks down to the Cargo Bay, followed closely by Wanda. Sam is already waiting, arms folded across his chest.  
“What the hell is going on, Buck?” he snaps.  
Buck ignores him, opening up the comms. “Pietro,” he calls, and a moment later the boy is standing at his sister's side.  
Sam gasps, staring at the boy. “That ain’t possible.”  
“We’re going to get the Captain, yes?” Pietro asks, his hands clenching and unclenching.  
“Yes.” Buck cracks open the barrel of the shotgun, pushing two cartridges into place and snapping it shut. He lifts his head up to face Sam, and for a moment looks like the Buck he knows. “Stay here, don’t let anyone take the ship.” he pulls a handgun out from where it’s tucked in the waistband of his pants and holds it out.  
Sam doesn’t hesitate, he reaches out and takes it, his expression determined. “Luchkov,” he says. it’s not a question. “That son of a bitch.”  
“Clint, you keep the engine running.” Buck calls out.  
There is a hiss over the comms. “Just bring her back,” Clint murmurs.  
Buck turns to the twins. “Ready?”  
Sam shakes his head and steps forward, putting himself between Buck and the doors. “What the hell? There’s gotta be a dozen armed men waiting out there, and you’re just gonna walk out there?”  
Buck doesn’t respond, just shoves Sam forcefully out of the way and reaches for the controls. “Buck, you can’t be serious. They’re a couple of kids, what the hell are you-”  
Buck slams his fist onto the control panel, and the Cargo Bay doors slide open.

Seven men approach the ship, armed with assault rifles and semi-automatics. The leader steps forward, raising the barrel of his gun to Buck as he strides down the ramp.  
A red haze drifts around his feet, rising up to meet the guards.  
“Who the hell are you?” the leader growls.  
Buck doesn’t answer, lifting his shotgun up and pulling the trigger.  
The man's head bursts open in a shower of blood and gristle, Buck turns and shoots the next man before he can react, lifting his metal hand, fingers splayed, to deflect the shots fired by the third. There is a clatter and the five surviving men look down to see their weapons are gone, stacked up in a heap in the Cargo Bay at Sam’s feet.  
Sam lets out a yelp, but reaches down and grabs one of the rifles, pointing it down the ramp at the guards.  
Buck tosses the shotgun to the side and pulls out one of his pistols. He shoots the remaining five guards in the head, one by one where they stand, frozen in place by that strange red mist.  
“Buck, no!” Sam yells out, but they are already dead.  
Buck gestures to the twins to stay with him, and they move in formation, flanking him as enters the station.

The guards come in twos and threes, and Buck takes them out without hesitation. The air fills with screams and calls for back-up in guttural, familiar languages as he leads the twins through a maze of corridors, leaving a trail of bodies like breadcrumbs. Buck stalks ever onwards, Wanda at his right, Pietro a blur around them, a thick red mist curling around their feet.  
They find the holding cells on the third floor, and Buck ignores the screams from the prisoners for mercy or death or freedom. He moves from cell to cell, peering between the metal bars until he sees a familiar flash of red. The twins take a defensive position either side of him, moving in silent unison.  
Natasha is sat cross-legged on a bare mattress in the corner. There is blood in her mouth, blood matting her red hair. She looks up. “Buck?” she whispers, scared and shocked.  
He reaches out his metal hand and crushes the lock in his fist, dragging the cell door open with a grinding shriek.  
“Can you walk?” he growls, drawing a pistol.  
Natasha shrinks back, pressing herself into the darkest corner of the cell. “Yes,” she whimpers, pushing her heels into the mattress, cornered but still trying to get away.  
Buck flips the pistol in his hand, gripping it by the barrel and holding it out to her.  
She doesn’t move for a moment, staring at him as he flicks the handle at her impatiently.  
In one swift movement she lunges forward on her hands and knees, snatching the gun out of his hand and pointing it up at him. Her hands can’t stop shaking, so she grips the gun tighter. Buck doesn’t even flinch when he looks down the barrel. When her finger twitches on the trigger.  
“You know the way out?” he asks, his voice softer, more familiar.  
“Yes,” Natasha pulls herself up into a crouch, not letting her aim waver.  
Buck tips his head back the way they came, a trail of bodies like breadcrumbs.  
“Your husband is waiting,” Buck ignores the gun pointed at him, eyes fixed on her bloody mouth. “Go.”  
He turns away, gesturing for the twins to stay in formation, and continues down the row of cells.  
Natasha lets out a moan and crumples to the floor, her hands still wrapped around the grip of the pistol. She lets out a sob, her shoulders shaking, and sits in the doorway of her cell and cries, wrapping her arms around herself and rocking back and forth.  
She hears a distant scream and drags herself up and out of the cell, stumbling down the corridor away from the staccato thrum of gunfire.

The medic sets aside the defibrillator and puts a stethoscope to Steve’s bruised chest. He rests one hand on the gurney Steve is strapped onto, listening intently. He looks up at Luchkov waiting impatiently and nods when he finds a heartbeat.  
Luchkov claps his hands together and beams, reaching down to pat Steve on the shoulder while the medic withdraws, waiting to be called forward again.  
“Captain Rogers?” he calls softly, brushing at the bloodied tatters of Steve’s shirt. “Captain Rogers?”  
Steve grunts and cracks open one eye. Luchkov smiles at him.  
“You died, Captain,” Luchkov tuts.  
“Seemed like the thing to do,” Steve wheezes. His head aches whenever he tries to move, so he doesn’t try.  
Luchkov shakes his head. “But we still have so much to do.” He reaches down to the tray beside him and selects a slim metal tube. He clicks the base and the device crackles and sparks, bursting into an arc of blue flame. He turns back to Steve.  
“Now,” he smiles. “Where were we?”  
There is a rattle of gunfire, and Luchkov looks up, frowning. “Go,” he snaps to the guard by the door, who nods and goes to investigate.  
He pulls open the door and the back of his head explodes, spraying bone and tissue across the room, and the guard slumps to the ground. Luchkov takes a step back and calls for his guards, a half dozen men posted in the hall, but no one comes. He shouts again, but no one comes.  
The door slowly opens. Steve coughs and lifts his head up to look.  
“Buck?” 

Buck steps into the room, the last of Luis’ pistols clenched in his fist. Luchkov lets out a gasp and stares his metal arm, shining through the tears in his shirt, shredded by gunfire and the shifting and resettling of the plates.  
“ _Oboroten_ ,” he gasps, moving closer. “I had heard rumours that Karpov had found himself a Winter Soldier before they went feral. Had to be put on ice when it started… misbehaving.”  
“What?” Steve whispers, barely a breath.  
Buck takes a step forward and points the pistol and Luchkov. He looks amused.  
“Sputnik,” Luchkov calls out.  
Buck shivers, his hand dropping back down to his side. His expression turns blank.  
“Buck!” Steve calls, but he doesn’t respond. He doesn’t move, just stands vacant eyed and shivering.  
Luchkov turns to Steve. “Is this one yours, Captain? I’m impressed.” He takes a moment to admire Buck, frozen in the doorway, his eyes glassy. Luchkov’s expression turns cold. “You don’t know the code sequence, do you Captain? Did you find it wandering around like a stray dog and take it home? Did you think you could tame it?”  
Luchkov laughs. “They are dogs, trained to obey commands. I have wanted an Oboroten for a long time.” He lets out a satisfied sigh “Oh, the things we will do together.”  
“Buck, get out of here,” Steve hisses, pulling at his restraints. “Go!”  
“ _Zilánie_ ,” Luchkov snaps, and Buck flinches like he’s been struck.  
“Buck?” Steve pleads softly.  
“ _Rzávyj_ ,” Luchkov says. “ _Simnátsat_.”  
Steve lets out a wordless sound of panic as everything that made Buck starts to fade. The crinkles around his eyes when he laughs, the uptick at the corner of his mouth, the slope of his shoulders. With every word from Luchkov they are washed away, leaving a hollow-eyed shadow in its place  
“ _Rassvét_ ,” Luchkov says.  
The Winter Soldier raises his gun and pulls the trigger.  
Luchkov slumps to the ground, blood trickling from the bullet hole in his forehead.

The Winter Soldier turns to the gurney Steve is strapped to. He reaches out his metal hand and grips the bindings, tearing them away.  
Steve opens his mouth to speak, but everything clogs up in his throat, too huge and too terrifying to put into words. He reaches out his hand, brushing his fingers against the metal arm.  
Buck grabs him by the shoulder and pulls him up into a sitting position, and before Steve can make a sound wraps both arms around him, crushing them together.  
“You dumb punk,” Buck exhales. “Can’t leave you alone for-”  
Steve throws his arms around Buck’s shoulders, ignoring the protests from his aching ribs. He lets out a choked sound while Buck ruffles his hair, pressing his cheek to the cool metal of his shoulder.  
“Dumb fuckin’ punk,” Buck murmurs, curling his fingers around the nape of Steve’s neck. His voice is so warm, so sweet, it makes Steve’s heart ache.  
Buck straightens up and helps Steve to his feet, fussing over the bruises forming on his chest, the red marks on his temples. He tugs Steve’s torn shirt into place, rubbing his fingers over the bloodstains worriedly.  
“Think you can walk?” he asks, and his voice is so hesitant, so warm, so Buck that Steve can only nod.  
Buck pulls Steve’s arm carefully over his shoulder, easing his metal arm around Steve’s waist, and guides him to the door.  
The corridor is strewn with bodies, Wanda and Pietro waiting at the far end, keeping watch, though Steve doubts that there is anyone left on the station.  
Wanda lets out a shriek and runs over to them, taking Steve’s other arm in her hands and rubbing her fingers over his wrist. She touches her other hand to his bruised forehead and the ache in his ribs recedes.  
“Natasha,” Steve says suddenly.  
“Taken care of,” Buck answers, his head down, his eyes fixed on their feet.  
They move slowly, stepping over the bodies that litter the corridors and stairwells.  
“Luis?” Steve feels a little stronger, his head a little bit clearer. Clear enough to notice the way the Buck is pointedly not looking at him, that the grip around his waist has become almost clinical, and nothing like the gentle touches from earlier.  
“In the Infirmary. He’s okay.”  
Steve has never been so happy to see his ship, or Sam waiting for him in the Cargo Bay.  
“Look at the state of you,” Sam sighs.  
“You should see the other guy,” Steve tells him.  
Buck hands him over to Sam’s care, turning to the controls to seal up the Cargo Bay.  
“Clint, everybody on board?” Buck calls as Sam leads Steve up the stairs to the infirmary.  
“Yeah.” There is a long pause. “Anybody left out there?”  
Buck sighs and slides Verónica off his shoulder. “No.”  
“Good.”

Steve grumbles good-naturedly as Sam checks him over, earning himself a poke in his bruised ribs.  
“Ow,” he grouses. “You are a terrible doctor.”  
“Well you’re a terrible patient,” Sam counters.  
Steve looks over at Luis, bandaged up and sleeping on a gurney in the corner of the Infirmary. “He gonna be okay?’  
Sam nods. “Yeah, you both will.” He packs away his equipment and gives Steve a concerned look. “You planning on telling me what happened out there?”  
Steve shakes his head. “No.”  
“Natasha looked pretty banged up. She ain’t saying a word either.”  
“Well, that’s her business.”  
Sam lets out a frustrated huff. “Steve, we need to talk about this. I know how much Buck means to you but you didn’t see him. Five guys, unarmed, and he shot them. One by one, bang, bang, bang. They weren’t even a threat.”  
“Yes they were,” Steve snaps. “Just because they were unarmed, you think they were harmless? You think you could have defended the ship against all five of them?” He fixes Sam with a hard stare. “Think you could have shot them?”  
Sam doesn’t answer, just sniffs and turns away.  
Steve reaches out a hand. “Sam. We’d be dead now, if it wasn’t for him.”  
There is no warning, one moment the doorway is empty, and the next Pietro appears looking panicked, and even though Steve knows what the boy is capable of, it still unsettles him to see it.  
“Cap, you gotta come quick,” the boy says in a rush.  
Steve slips off the gurney, pulling on a clean t-shirt. “What’s going on?”  
“He’s leaving,” Pietro whines. “Buck’s leaving.”

Wanda is hunched up on the floor outside the Engine room, her knees drawn up, her hands wrapped around her ankles. She looks up at Steve when he approaches.  
“He won’t listen,” she says anxiously.  
“Shh,” Steve murmurs, closing his hand around her shoulder and squeezing gently.  
She leans into his touch and he realises how exhausted she must be, how much she has endured over the last few hours.  
“Thank you,” he murmurs. “Thank you for coming to get me.” He gives her arm a gentle pat. “Go get some rest, okay?’  
She gets to her feet with enviable grace, giving Steve a kiss on the cheek before going off in search of her brother.  
Steve waits until she’s out of sight before going into the Engine room.  
The place is a wreck, tools and spare parts and coils of wire scattered around the floor. Every storage locker and cabinet has been left open, doors swinging back and forth as Buck rummages through the piles of clothes and books that he has accumulated over the last few years. Steve watches as he picks through the nick-knacks and souvenirs arranged on the shelves, carefully wrapping up items in t-shirts and stuffing them into his bag.  
“What are you doing?” Steve asks gently.  
Buck freezes, then after a moment of stillness continues to search the shelves. Steve’s heart gives a painful thump when Buck takes a little pot painted with flowers and tucks it into the bag.  
“Buck?”  
“I’m leaving,” Buck snaps, still keeping his head down. “First place we get to, I don’t care. Leave me on Wheaton or something.”  
“I’m not leaving you anywhere, Buck-”  
“Weren’t you listening?” Buck snarls, turning to face him. He’s pale, his hands shaking. There is dried blood under his fingernails. “You heard what Luchkov said! You saw what… What I did.”  
“What, you mean when you figured out that me and Nat been kidnapped, then organised a rescue mission? Yeah, I noticed.” Steve takes a step into the room.  
“I _killed_ them,” Buck hisses, glaring at him. “Not some of them, not the ones that got in the way, all of them. All of them.” He shakes his head. ”Not because they were a threat, or to get you out faster. I just wanted them dead.”  
He turns away, dropping his bag on the floor and covering his face with his hands.  
“You think I got a problem with that?” Steve asks, moving closer. “They weren’t exactly decent, upstanding citizens. So there’s fewer slavers and thugs in the ‘verse, you think anyone’s going to weep over them?”  
Buck presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. “You heard what he called me.”  
Steve pauses. _Oboroten_. He breathes out slowly. “I don’t care what he called you.”  
“I’m a monster,” Buck whispers. “I can’t stay here, it’s not safe.” He picks up his bag and starts filling it again.  
“We’ll keep you safe, we won’t let anyone get to you-” Steve takes another step closer.  
“It’s not safe for you!” Buck yells, and it takes everything Steve has to not flinch.  
Buck clenches his jaw. “You saw what he did. All he had to do was say the damn words and I…” he throws his bag across the room. It smacks against the heat exchanger, spilling its contents across the floor.  
“Bucky,” Steve says gently.  
“... He said the words and everything. _Everything_. Just… fell away.” Buck leans back against the reactor core. “What if… what if I hurt you? What if I hurt Wanda?”

Steve closes the last remaining distance between them, reaching out to rest his hands on Buck’s shoulders.  
“You didn’t,” he says simply. “You could have, but you didn’t.”  
Buck screws up his face. “That’s not good enough!”  
“Yes it is,” Steve curls his fingers around Buck’s arms, flesh and metal alike. “You been here for what? Two years now? With no end of opportunity to visit harm on us. You never once raised a hand to anyone, even at your worst.”  
“That was different,” Buck bows his head, a curtain of hair falling across his face.  
“Yeah, it was,” Steve agrees, pushing the hair out of Buck’s eyes and tucking it behind his ear. “You ain’t a monster, Bucky. Whatever they did to you, whatever they tried to make you into, doesn’t matter.” He brushes his thumbs along the line of Buck’s jaw. “You’re not a monster, not a machine. You’re a person, whole and true.”  
Buck reaches up and wraps his hands around Steve’s wrists, keeping him in place.  
“Yeah?” he asks, a tremor in his voice.  
“Yeah,” Steve breathes.  
Buck lets out a sharp exhale, neither sob nor laugh, and Steve dares to move that little bit closer. His breath ghosting across Buck’s lips.  
Buck’s grip on Steve’s wrists loosens, becomes a caress. “I saved your life.”  
Steve strokes his thumbs back and forth across the curve of Buck’s jaw. “I reckon you did.”  
“Do I get a reward?”  
There is something in his eyes, a light that had always been there, but Steve hadn’t dared look for it.  
“Yeah,” he grins. “I reckon you do.”  
He leans closer and brushes their mouths together. A brief, careful press of lips before withdrawing.  
Buck licks his lower lip and lets his hands drop to Steve’s waist.  
“You know,” he says slowly. “Considering you’re a Captain and all, that’s not much of a reward.”  
“Oh,” Steve does his best to look offended. “Not good enough?”  
“Sorry, pal,” Buck shakes his head slightly, not enough to dislodge the hands cradling him. “Hate to say it.”  
Steve leans down again and Buck meets him halfway, tilting his head and fitting their mouths together. He flicks his tongue across Steve’s lower lip, and he opens up, his kisses gentle and sweet, sweeter than berries or jam or crisp green apples.  
Steve pulls away far too soon for Buck’s liking, but he doesn’t complain.  
“Better?” Steve’s voice, low and roughened, sends a shiver under Buck’s skin.  
“Mmm,” Buck sighs, sliding his hands over Steve’s shirt, calloused fingers catching the soft fabric.  
Steve lets out a quiet hiss. “Sorry,” he mumbles. “Still pretty sore.”  
Buck tugs up the hem of his shirt while Steve squirms and tries to shove his arm away. “I’m fine, it’s fine…”  
Buck lets out a low growl at the bruises across Steve’s ribs. Steve pointedly pulls the t-shirt down again. “It’s fine,” he repeats.  
Buck curls his hands around Steve’s waist and gives him a rueful smile. “Bad timing, huh?”  
Steve nods. “The worst.”

“Alright,” Buck sucks in a breath. “Boots off.”  
He kicks off his shoes while Steve makes a confused noise, bending down to unlace his boots and biting back a yelp of discomfort.  
“Neither of us are in a fit state for anything right now, and you look about ready to drop. Come on.”  
Buck slips under the reactor core and Steve climbs down after him. There is an alcove under the turbine that Buck has lined with pads and blankets scavenged from around the ship. Steve has a sudden, painful recollection of the first time he saw Buck, curled up in that crate, deep in cryo-sleep.  
Buck lies down on his back and shuffles into a comfortable position, gesturing for Steve to join him. He crawls into the space at Buck’s side and curls around him, finding a position that doesn’t put too much pressure on his bruises. He rests his head on Buck’s shoulder, the metal cool against his cheek.  
Buck folds gentle arms around him, pulling him closer until Steve has his head tucked under Buck’s chin, the steady pulse of his heart against Steve’s ear. He slides a hand around Buck’s waist, tucking his fingers under the hem of his shirt to touch the smooth skin of his stomach.  
“Go to sleep, Stevie,” Buck murmurs.  
“Buck, I still gotta contact our buyer, they’ll be wondering what the hell happened to their cargo.”  
Buck gives him a gentle squeeze. “It can wait.”  
“Buck…”  
Buck lets out an exasperated sound and presses a hard kiss to Steve’s forehead. He speaks firmly, each word punctuated by a kiss, each softer than the last. “Go. To. Sleep.”  
Steve huffs but closes his eyes, lulled by the steady rhythm of Buck’s heart, and slowly drifts off to sleep.


	7. The Hive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We applied the cortical electrodes,” Buck says loudly, prising a ruptured filter out of its casing. “But were unable to get a neural reaction from either patient.” Steve pauses in his pacing to stare at Buck, who gives him a big, teeth-filled grin. “The patients were cyanotic and unresponsive.”  
> “You’re still not coming,” Steve grumbles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aka the lets steal some shit from a medical facility episode.
> 
> This chapter was so much fun to write. Honestly, I kind of want to see the version where Luis tries to talk his way into a medical facility.
> 
> Thanks to Britt for poking me where I needed poking and Krycekasks for relentless enthusiasm  
> And as always, thanks to my most fabulous beta Eidheann, who has yet to watch a single episode of Firefly, no matter how many gifs I show her of Nathan Fillion naked in the desert 
> 
> Tch, some people

Buck tips his head back and sighs, letting out a soft chuckle as Steve kisses along the line of his throat, stubble rasping against his sensitive skin. Steve hums, nosing his way along the exposed breadth of Buck's chest, dotting light kisses along the sharp line of his collarbone until he reaches the seam of twisted scar tissue between metal and skin.  
Buck lets out a pleased murmur, trailing his fingers up and down Steve’s spine. His skin pale and smooth, a stark contrast to Buck’s scarred, tan body. The bruises have barely faded on either of them, but Steve has determined to put his mouth on every inch of Buck’s body, and he’s not inclined to disagree.  
Steve brushes his lips across the knotted scars along Buck’s shoulder, kissing the shifting metal plates and ruddy, marred skin with equal tenderness, moving down to nuzzle at the dip of armpit where the metal joins skin.  
Buck squirms and shoves at him, laughing breathlessly. But Steve clings on, shifting his weight until he’s lying on top of Buck, chest pressed to his stomach. Steve pins down his metal arm and licks a stripe along the hollow of his armpit, nose pressed to the coarse tuft of dark hair and breathing in the rich, musky scent of him.  
Buck laughs again, pushing Steve’s face away from his armpit, gentle but insistent. Steve relents and crawls further up Buck’s body until they are pressed chest to chest.  
Buck hooks his leg over Steve’s hip and thrusts up, rubbing his hard cock along the crease of Steve’s thigh. His flesh hand, warm and sticky, wrapped loosely around Steve’s cock. He strokes up his length in smooth, languid caresses, rubbing his thumb over the head before gliding back down.  
Steve nips at Buck’s shoulder, his hips twitching, and Buck curls his metal hand around the nape of his neck, tilting his head for a kiss. Steve reaches up to tangle his fingers in Bucks sweat-dampened hair and kisses him, taking his sweet time in tracing the shape of Buck’s mouth, the curves of his teeth. Buck growls, impatient, pulling Steve’s tongue deeper into his mouth. He sucks and teases as Steve rocks into his fist, fingers clenching and releasing as he moves, slow and indulgent.

There is a crackle of static, and Clint’s voice in Steve’s ear, sharply intrusive and the last thing he wants to hear.  
“Arriving at Manhatten any time now, Cap,” Clint announces.  
Steve wrenches his mouth away from Buck's.  
“Son of a-”  
Buck pulls him back down and kisses him, brief and tender. “Give us ten minutes, would you pal?” he mutters.  
Clint snorts. “Sure thing, fellas.”  
There is a click of the comms shutting off, and Buck puts his hands on Steve’s waist, pulling Steve bodily on top of him until their cocks slide together.  
Steve lets out a startled moan as Buck lets his legs fall open, coaxing him into motion.  
“This work?” Buck asks breathlessly.  
Steve nods, bracing his hands either sides of Buck's shoulders and thrusting his hips. Buck digs his fingers into his waist, his metal fingers leaving bruises as he pants and lifts his head up for a kiss.  
Steve leans down to meet him halfway, sliding their tongues together as he ruts up against him. Buck moans into his mouth, hands smoothing over the swell of Steve’s ass, feeling the muscles there bunch and flex as they move together.  
Steve breaks the kiss to whisper into Buck’s mouth, his voice unsteady.  
“Buck,” he gasps.  
“Shh. I got you, darlin’” Buck murmurs, sliding his hands up Steve’s back to rest at his broad shoulders. His metal hand smooth and skin-warmed against Steve’s neck.  
Steve’s arms tremble, and he drops down, pressing their bodies together from thigh to chest, pressing his open mouth to Buck’s throat as he shudders and comes, spilling between them.  
Buck wraps Steve up tightly in his arms and kisses him, rough and deep and dirty, whining into Steve’s mouth when he reaches down to wrap his hand around Buck’s cock.  
It’s messy and frantic, Buck thrusting up into Steve’s fist and licking into his mouth until he comes, sudden and sharp, like static crackling under his skin.

“Guys? Ten minutes are up?” Clint announces, laughter in his voice.  
“Ugh,” Buck grumbles. “I hate you.”  
Clint laughs down the comms. “Docking in five, put your pants on.”  
“I’m hiring a new pilot,” Steve announces, his voice muffled in Buck’s shoulder. “This one is nothing but trouble.”  
Steve shuts off the comms and rolls onto his side, resting his head on Buck’s metal shoulder and blinking sleepily while Buck grabs a spare t-shirt and wipes himself off.  
“No rest for the wicked, huh?” he murmurs.  
Buck leans over and swipes up the mess on Steve’s stomach before leaning in to give him a quick kiss.  
“We are very wicked,” he grins, giving Steve a last, lingering kiss before climbing out from under the reactor core.  
Steve watches Buck throw his soiled t-shirt into the laundry and snatch up his discarded pants from the Engine room floor. He glances over at Steve as he pulls up his pants and fastens his belt, giving him a sly grin before searching his locker for clean clothes. Steve takes a moment to admire the play of muscles across Buck's shoulders as he slips on a clean t-shirt before climbing out of their hiding place and figuring out where the hell he’d thrown his boots.

Five minutes later Steve comes down to the Cargo Bay, where Natasha and Luis are waiting with the loaded buggy.  
Luis grins at him and tugs at his hair. “You hydrated, Cap? I mean with all the exercise you’re getting, gotta keep your strength up!”  
Steve flushes and steps out of Luis’ reach, brushing his fingers through his hair that’s sticking up every which way. He gives up on trying to flatten it and shoves his hands in his pockets instead, ignoring Natashas sniggering.  
Clint and Buck come ambling down the steps to the Cargo Bay, Buck pulling his hair into a loose bun and giving Steve a bright smile that he can’t help but return.  
“Alright, let’s make this quick. Luis, you’re with me on this one. Nat, you stick with the buggy. Stark is likely to give us trouble, so keep on your guard.”  
Luis bounces on the balls of his feet. “Do I get to be the muscle? Aww, man I’ve always wanted to be the muscle.” He claps his hands together. “Don’t worry Cap, I won’t let you down. Any bad guys come at you, I’ll knock ‘em flat with one punch.”  
“Thanks Luis, but that won’t be necessary,” Steve chuckles as Buck puts a sympathetic arm around Luis’ shoulder. “Stark likes to talk, and I can’t keep up with him most of the time.”  
Luis brightens up. “So I get to be be, like, your interpreter?”  
Nat shakes her head. “No, you get to be the only person in the ‘verse that can out-talk him.”  
Steve nods. “He won’t know what’s hit him.”  
“You think I can persuade him to give my cousin Dave a job? He’s coming to Manhattan soon, my abuela would be so happy if he had a job to go to.” Luis looks at Steve hopefully.  
“Can’t hurt to ask,” Steve shrugs. “Clint, can you get the ship refueled? We could do with water and batteries while you’re at it.”  
He hands over a fold of notes. Clint fans them open and snorts. “With this? You want anything else while I’m at it? A diamond tiara? A magic pony?”  
“Golden crown,” Steve goes over to the control panel and opens the airlock. “Nothing too ostentatious.”  
“I could do with a new regulator,” Buck adds.  
Steve points an unwavering finger at him. “You’re staying right here, so are the twins. Manhattan may be independant but it’s still crawling with Strike teams and SHIELD agents. Ain’t worth the risk.”  
Buck humphs and crosses his arms over his chest. “At least sleeping together hasn’t made you go all soft on me.”  
Luis bumps their shoulders together. “Buddy, he was soft on you before.”  
That makes the corner of Buck’s mouth twitch up.  
“Fine,” he mutters, going over to Steve and giving him a brief, brushing kiss, metal hand curled around the nape of his neck. “But if we fall out of the sky it’s on you.”  
Steve kisses him back, a little less briefly. “I’ll bear that in mind.”  
Buck slips out of his arms and heads back to the stairs, wishing them good luck as he goes.  
Steve shakes off the dumb expression plastered on his face. “Alright, let's get moving.”

Luis steers the buggy through the streets of Manhattan, one of the larger of the outer rim planets. The docks were the usual cluster of traders and thieves, eying the buggy curiously as it thundered through the streets towards upper Manhattan and the gaudy spire of Stark Tower.  
“So, this guy Stark?” Luis asks. “What’s he like? I mean, I know the rumours about him, made his name as some sort of super genius engineer for SHIELD, but took offence when they took all the bombs he designed and threw them at actual people. Which kind of seems like an oversight to me, you know?”  
Natasha, perched in the back with the cargo, leans forward, her elbow resting on the back of Luis’ seat. “The United Planets security council claimed it was a necessary evil, that the Independants couldn’t run to ground if there was no ground to run to.”  
Steve scowls “Yeah, but all the dead women and children didn’t sit well with him, so he left.”  
“Guilty conscience, huh?” Luis nods.  
“I think he prefers the term philanthropist. Renewable energies, robotics, that kind of thing.”  
“Didn’t he build that AI?” Luis laughs. “My cousin told me about that! He created artificial intelligence, and then had a big fight with it so it flounced off to the other end of the ‘verse.”  
Natasha snorts. “Yeah, he called it ‘The Vision’ or something?”  
“Well, whatever he gets up to, he also has no qualms with stealing from SHIELD to supply materials for his projects,” Steve glances at the crate behind us. “Which is where folks like us come in.”  
“Well for a genius he’s got some funny taste in architecture,” Luis points to the tower up ahead. “Cause that thing is damned ugly. Don’t get me wrong, I love me some Neo Cubism, Le Corbusier, shit like that. But that thing is just a mess.”  
They park up at the tower and Luis shuts off the engine. Steve turns in his seat to look at Natasha.  
“You wait out here, either way we won’t be long.”  
She nods and unstraps the cargo, handing the case over to Luis, who tucks it under his arm.  
“Luis, stick by me and keep your mouth shut until I say different. okay?”  
Luis makes a zipping motion over his lips. Steve pats him on the shoulder and leads the way into the tower.

They are met by a large man in a badly fitting suit who introduces himself as Happy, but doesn’t clarify if that’s his name or his temperament. He leads them to an elevator and presses the down button.  
Luis bounces on the balls of his feet but keeps quiet, though he gives Steve a pleading look. Steve shakes his head, and Luis shifts restlessly, looking pained.  
“We’re here to see Mr Stark,” Steve says quickly.  
The man beams at him. “Mr Stark is in the shop today.”  
The elevator doors open, revealing a large workroom. There is a working forge at the back of the cavernous space, several vehicles in one corner in various stages of completion and work tables littered with tools and schematics. For a moment Steve imagines the absolute fit Buck would pitch over it all, and bites back a smile.  
Tony Stark is hunched over the center table, welding mask in place as he cuts into a sheet of metal with an acetylene torch. He flips up his mask and looks over at at Steve.  
“You're late.”  
Steve snorts. “You’re lying.”  
Stark snaps up and whips off the mask. “Excuse me?”  
“We weren’t due to arrive until this afternoon. So, we’re three hours early with the goods you asked for that took us considerable time and effort to obtain.” Steve pauses. “So you saying we’re late means you want me on the defensive. You want to tell me what’s going on?”  
Stark picks up a slate on the table next to him and pushes it towards Steve. It displays a SHIELD news wave, a loop of footage, distorted due to the static, of a red hulled ship. The scrolling news bulletin below the image gives a brief description of a daring raid on a SHIELD storage facility.  
“That’s not an ID, though. Could be any number of vessels.”  
“Could be, but it isn’t. You flash your asses at SHIELD and bring it to my door-”  
“Luis,” Steve murmurs.

Luis takes a step forward, putting himself between Steve and Stark.  
“Mr Stark, such a thrill to meet you, that Arc Reactor shit of yours, work of fuckin’ genius, I’m telling you.”  
“Yes, it is,” Tony says warily. “Excuse me, but who are you?”  
Luis reaches out a hand, grabbing Stark's work glove and giving it a shake. “Luis. Like I say, can’t tell you what a thrill it is. I’m so excited! I mean, I gotta ask though, who designed the tower? Because I woulda figured a guy like you would go more Art Deco, you know? Maybe Neo Futurism?”  
“What is going on?” Stark tugs his hand free.  
“I’ve got this cousin, Dave? He’s a real hard worker, and a decent guy. For real, I’m telling ya. And he’s coming to Manhattan, it’d make my abuela so damn happy if there was a job waiting when he got here, and also I kind of owe him one because I kind of did the nasty with his sister one time, and he still ain’t forgiven me. I mean, it was her idea, and you know a woman's body is her choice, right?” Stark nods dumbly. “Damn right! But anyway Dave didn’t feel that way at the time, and although it’s all air out the engine it’d be nice to do something for him anyway.”  
Luis looks at him expectantly, and Stark turns to Steve. “What did he say?”  
“I’m asking for a job! For my cousin Dave, on account of doing his-”  
“Yes, I heard that part!” Stark rubs his thumb against the wrinkle forming between his eyebrows. “What’s that got to do with you guys flashing your asses at SHIELD-”  
“Oh, well obviously that’s just a play,” Luis dumps the case on the work table. “You’re looking to get us on the back foot, that way you can act like it’s an imposition, taking this shit at a risk to your own standing.” Luis snorts. “As if a man like you would ever be scared of SHIELD. Nah, brah! You own, like, half this planet, right? I get you, you’re looking to drop the price, gonna tell us it’s a problem and knock off ten percent for your troubles.” Luis points to Steve. “And the Cap here, well, we worked hard to get this shit to you, at some personal sacrifice, so he’s gonna give you a counter offer of five percent. Now you’re gonna use that to make a show of force, show us scavengers that you’re the guy in charge, and push it up to twelve. You could go fifteen maybe, but you know who we are, you know that we’re hard workers, and we’re barely getting by as it is.”  
“That’s not my problem,” Stark snaps.  
“Nah, course it ain’t! And it suits you to keep us hungry, keep us willing to please. But brah, there’s a fine line between hungry and dead, and one of these days you might need a job pulling, and when you call us there’s no answer. So you gotta go to someone less reliable, who might not bring home the goods.” Luis points to Happy, still waiting behind them. “And that’s why when you send us back upstairs with this fella to get paid, he’s gonna go with ten percent, because he looks like a smart guy. And also I saw him eying up Nat.” Luis turns to Happy. “I feel you, brah, I really do. But she’ll crush your balls, man.” He clenches his fist emphatically, and Happy winces.  
There is a moment of silence while Luis grins at Stark expectantly.  
“If I give your cousin a job, will I ever have to see your face or hear your voice again?” Stark finally asks.  
“Never again, I swear,” Luis nods.  
Stark purses his lips. “Fine. Go away. Happy, pay the men.”

They head back to the ship, taking a detour through the market to pick up a few supplies. They find Clint finishing up the refuelling and loading supplies onto the ship.  
Steve sends him to the bridge to prep for departure before heading to the Engine room in search of Buck.  
Steve eventually finds him in the Galley, slumped on the couch with Wanda and playing cards. Sam is sat at the table, going through inventory.  
“Take off in five,” Steve announces.  
Wanda throws her hand of cards at Buck and hurries off to the Bridge.  
“Don’t crash my damn ship!” Buck calls after her, picking up the scattered cards. “Clint promised her a go at taking off,” he explains.  
Steve nods and takes Wanda’s empty seat. “Good, doesn’t hurt to have an extra pilot on board.” Steve finally catches up with the conversation. “And it’s my damn ship.”  
“Sure it is, Stevie,” Buck smiles as he shuffles the deck of cards.  
Steve huffs and pulls a gift out of his pocket, a small foil wrapped square, and hands it over. Buck drops the cards on the table and snatches it out of his hands, turning it over and squeezing it experimentally.  
“What is it?” he asks, holding it up to his ear.  
“It’s chocolate. You eat it,” Steve reaches out before Buck puts the whole thing in his mouth. “You gotta unwrap it first.”  
Buck tucks his thumbnail under the foil edge and peels it away, folding it up and carefully tucking it into his pocket before nibbling a corner of the candy. He lets out a pleased little sound, shoves the rest in his mouth and chews.  
“No it’s fine, you don’t have to share,” Steve snorts.  
Buck’s smile gets wider, a real troublemaker. “You want some?”  
Steve’s mouth goes dry, and he nods silently, leaning forward. Buck opens up to him, wrapping his arms, metal and flesh, around his shoulders as Steve licks into his mouth, rich and sweet. Steve presses his hands to the small of Buck’s back, sliding under his jacket and shivering as Buck curls their tongues together, filling his mouth with the bittersweet taste of cocoa.

Pietro raps his mug on the table. “Take it downstairs!” he glances at Sam who chuckles in agreement.  
“Yeah, give it a rest, you two!” Sam joins in.  
They break apart, Steve blushing while Buck just looks pleased with himself.  
Steve brushes his hand through his hair, trying to smooth down where Buck has ruffled and straightens up in his seat.  
“You get paid?” Buck asks softly.  
“Yeah,” Steve reaches out and takes Buck’s hand in his, lacing their fingers together. “You were right about Luis.”  
Buck sniggers. “He get Dave a job?”  
Steve nods and Buck turns to Sam. “Wilson, you owe me!”  
Sam looks up from his inventory. “Luis got the guy a job?” He huffs and reaches into his pocket, pulling out a token for laundry and tossing it over to Buck. He catches it and flips it into the air, watching it spin before catching it again and shoving it in his jacket pocket.  
Steve pulls his slate off the table and starts scrolling through the wave. Buck snatches the slate out of his hands and throws it back onto the table.  
“Hey!” Steve whines.  
“A day off, Steve,” Buck slaps his hand as he reaches for the slate again. “Just one.”  
“Buck, we need work. We need to get paid if we want Kitsune in the air, or food to eat…”  
“Come on, there’ll be crimes to commit tomorrow.”  
Steve shakes his head and reaches for the slate again. “We can’t afford to get lazy, we need to find a new job.”  
“We already have a job,” Sam announces.  
Buck glances over. “We do?”  
“What’s the job?” Steve frowns.  
“Me,” Sam holds up his inventory. “I’m the job.”

The rest of the crew gather around the Galley table while Buck makes a fresh pot of mediocre coffee. Steve watches as he fills each crew member's mug, passing them to Natasha to hand around the table.  
After what happened on the Dacha, Natasha has slowly begun to warm up to Buck, making tentative attempts at courtesy that Buck has been silently and carefully receptive to. In time, with luck, there will be a friendship there. In the meantime they dance carefully around each other, trying to work out how they fit.  
“What’s going on?” Clint asks, draining his mug of coffee and holding it out for a refill. “A new job already?”  
Buck pointedly ignores Clint’s waving cup until everyone else has a drink, then hands him the rest of the pot. Clint falls just short of drinking coffee straight from the pot when Natasha elbows him in the ribs.  
Steve waves a hand to Sam. "You want to take it from here?”  
Sam pushes his inventory to the middle of the table. “I’m guess it hasn’t escaped anyone's notice that as a group of people you all need a lot of medical attention.”  
Natasha sits back in her chair and crosses her arms. “You looking for a pay rise?”  
Clint huffs. “Well since we’re currently being paid nothing, lemme work it out.”  
“Clint,” Steve says wearily.  
“No, wait I can do it! Carry the two… yeah, we can stretch to another five percent of nothing, don’t you think?”  
“Come on, man,” Buck sighs. “Let him say his piece.”  
Luis gives Clint’s chair a kick and he waves his hand dismissively.  
“We’ve been getting by on whatever we can salvage from wrecks, and what we lifted from the Sokovia,” Sam glances at the twins sat between Buck and Clint. “But that was months ago. And the outlier worlds have a hard enough time getting basic medical supplies, let alone have enough to trade.”  
“What you saying?” Luis asks.  
Sam sighs. “I’m down to bandages and sutures. Anything more serious than cuts and breaks…” He shakes his head. “Antibiotics, IV fluids, hydrozepam, morphine, lithium, the dronedarone that flyboy over there needs when his heart gets out of whack.”  
Pietro sinks into his chair guiltily, and Buck places his hand on the back of the boy's head in silent comfort.

“So, what’s the plan?” Luis sits forward. “We gonna knock over a hospital or something, because that shit doesn’t sit right with me, brah. Ain’t many clinics on the outliers, and they need those meds, you know? For sick people?”  
“I’m not suggesting we steal from a hospital,” Sam snaps. “The security on the central planets is far too tight for us to even try, and no way in hell am I saying we should go hitting an outer planet clinic.”  
“What you’re suggesting?” Pietro asks.  
Sam pushes his slate across the table. There is an image of a space station on the screen.  
“This is the Hive. It’s a medical facility orbiting Maveth.”  
“You’re not seriously suggesting we enter SHIELD territory?” Steve scowls. “Sam, you remember the last time we were there?”  
Sam nods grimly. “Yeah, I remember. But the Maveth isn’t a central planet.”  
“It’s still a risk for a handful of meds, is it even worth it?” Clint asks.  
Sam taps his inventory. “We wouldn’t be stealing a half dozen bottles of penicillin, we’d be taking cases of drugs. As much as we can get our hands on.”  
“How sick do you think we’re going to get?” Luis pulls the slate closer, peering at the specs before pushing it across to Buck.  
“It wouldn’t be all for us,” Wanda realises. “You’d sell it to the outlier worlds.”  
Sam taps the inventory. “Propoxine. Worth about thirty credits a vial. Isoprovaline. Fifty credits.”  
“Look, I’m all for stealing from the rich and selling to the poor,” Clint says. “Don’t those people, I don’t know, need the medicine too?”  
Natasha shrugs. “It’s SHIELD run, it’ll be restocked within hours.”  
Buck pushes the slate over to Steve. “You’re talking about breaking into a high security SHIELD facility. How the hell are we gonna manage that?”  
“Through the front door,” Sam answers.

Sam sits back in his chair and waits for the rest of the crew to settle down. While everyone is arguing with each other, Buck is looking over the slate, tapping his metal fingers on the table. “He’s right.”  
That shuts everyone up. Steve gives Buck a hard look. “You want to explain that?”  
Buck’s gaze flits to Sam before returning to Steve. “It’ll be protected by a Strike team, yeah? Well, that’s a standardized uniform, shuttle, weaponry. That’s easy to fake. And being a station, once you get through the front door security will be at a minimum. Getting out shouldn’t be too much of a problem if we don’t trigger any alarms.”  
Clint nods and draws an abstract shape on the table. “Any municipal junkyard will have some wrecked ambulance shuttles we can restore.”  
“I can probably get a couple of uniforms,” Luis offers. “I got a cousin who’s an EMT, it’ll cost some, and you gotta promise it won’t lead back to him.”  
“If they’re not in the Hive that shouldn’t be a problem,” Sam reassures him before turning to Steve. “You’ll need to look like you belong there, you’re gonna have to pass yourselves off as trained medical staff. I can help you with that”  
“You’re not going?” Natasha looks surprised. “This is your idea.”  
Sam shakes his head. “I can give you the list of meds, teach you how to act. But I can't go with you, it’s too risky.”  
“We need three people,” Buck rubs his metal thumb across his lower lip absently. “One to pilot the shuttle, two to do the thieving. One person might get cornered. More than two and you’ll draw attention.”  
“How do we get the haul out of there? I’m guessing they won’t just let us walk out with it?” Steve asks.  
Sam grins at them. “Corpses.”

That gets everyone's attention.  
“No one likes dead bodies, especially not doctors. A dead body is someone screwing up, and personnel will back the hell away from that shit. So you each get a casket. You fill them up with meds from the list then take them back to the shuttle.”  
Steve sits back and purses his lips. “It’s a solid plan,” he says after some consideration. “But it doesn’t hurt to have an ace up our sleeve. Wanda, you think you can pilot a shuttle?”  
A slow smile spreads across her face. “Yes.”  
“Good,” Steve gives her a fond look. “Something goes wrong you think you can help us out?”  
She gives an enthusiastic nod while Buck frowns. “Well if she’s going, I’m going.”  
“No, you’re not,” Steve tells him flatly. “It’s a SHIELD-run facility, I’m not risking it.”  
“Are you kidding me?” Buck scowls. “If you’re-”  
“This isn’t up for discussion,” Steve snaps.  
Buck sits back in his chair and huffs while the rest of the table falls into an uncomfortable silence.  
Steve clears his throat. “Luis, you’re up. Clint, any of these junkyards fall outside of SHIELD territory?”  
He nods. “Yeah, there’s a few likely ones we can check out.”  
Alright, take us there.” Steve looks around the table. “We’ve got a job, people.”

They leave the table one by one, and Steve snags Buck’s sleeve as he’s on his way back to the Engine room.  
“Hey, Buck?” he asks softly. “You mad at me?”  
Buck shakes his head. “Nah, but if you’re letting me loose in a junkyard…”  
“Only what we need for the job,” Steve says firmly.  
“Stevie,” Buck wheedles, the corner of his mouth ticking up.  
Steve huffs. “I’m not making any promises, okay?”  
Buck flashes him a brief, bright smile and slips out of his grasp.  
Steve watches him walk away, hands on his waist, not remarking when Sam comes over to his side.  
“You and Buck,” Sam begins slowly.  
Steve lets his shoulders drop. “Sam,” he sighs.  
“It’s good to see you happy, Steve. Really, it is. But are you really sure you know what you’re getting into? It’s one thing to have one of the Winter Soldiers wandering around unsupervised on the ship, but if what Luchkov said was true, he’s Oborotni.”  
“No, he’s not,” Steve snaps. “Whatever Hydra did to him, whatever he used to be, he’s not Oborotni. He’s not a monster, he’s not a weapon, he’s a _person_.”  
“And you really think you can trust your judgement on this?” Sam raises his eyebrows.  
“I trust his.” Steve sighs and rubs a hand over his eyes. “When I was on that table, I thought it was over, I thought I was gonna die there. And there he was.” He bites his lip. The memory is fresh, painful. “They filled his head with codes, you know? Triggers and fail safes, to keep him obedient, to keep him under control. And he broke through them. Luchkov could have…” Steve brushes his hand through his hair and blinks away the memory of Buck, cold eyed and immobile. “All of that and he… snapped himself out of it. For me. To save me. You think I could ever doubt him after that?”  
Sam opens his mouth to argue, then shakes his head. “I guess not,” he gives Steve a rueful smile. “You two... You look happy.”  
“It’s a good plan,” Steve says after a moment of silence. “And yeah, we are.”  
Sam offers nothing more, giving Steve a nod before heading down to the Infirmary to get to work on his list.

“What happened?” Sam asks sharply.  
Luis shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “Well, we got there and it was whack, y’know? Place was a real shitstorm.”  
“Just the facts, Luis,” Buck calls across the room.  
“Yeah, but I thought it needed some authenticity, right? So-”  
“Luis…” Steve sighs.  
“Okay, okay. So we got there and the patients were like, not responding. So we tried to revive them…”  
“Resuscitate,” Sam says patiently.  
“Yeah, that. And we did all the stuff, but they kicked it.”  
Steve buries his face in his hands. “Luis, you can’t say that.”

Clint scrambles up the mountain of crushed shuttle crafts and buggys, his feet slipping on unspooled caterpillar tracks and pieces of wheel arches. He manages to reach the top without getting killed, and turns in a slow circle, his sharp eyes scanning the junkyard.  
“Hey, Buck?” He calls down to where Buck is taking a crowbar to the forecastle of a Cutter. He emerges from the craft a moment later, dragging a chunk of engine with him.  
Clint sighs. “Cap said to get only what we need for the job.”  
Buck shields his eyes from the sun with his hand and grins up at Clint. “Who’s to say I don’t need it for the caper?”  
Clint snorts and points North West, “Got a likely looking suspect over that way, just past the Brigantine.”  
Buck gives him a thumbs up and adds the engine to his rapidly growing heap of parts before heading off in the direction Clint points. He circles around the merchant ship, its hull cracked in two and listing to one side.  
Clint slips and stumbles down the other side of the mound, causing a small avalanche of power converters and leaking fuel cells. He catches up to Buck, who has already cracked open the casing of the ambulance shuttle and is dissecting the engine with frankly irritating enthusiasm.  
“What d’you think?” Clint huffs, giving the hull a kick.  
Buck straightens up, putting his hands on his hips and cocking his head to one side. “Perfect.”

“We used those… electromagnode… Electro… odes. But the guy was toast, you know. And it’s a tragedy, right? I mean, dude was just going about his day-”  
“Luis, just stick with the facts,” Sam groans. “What did you do?”  
Steve gets up from his chair and walks a frustrated circuit around the Galley, giving Buck a half hearted glare. Buck sniggers and goes back to fixing the air filter he has spread across the table.  
“Yeah, well we slapped on the doohicky but it didn’t do shit,” Luis shrugs.  
Sam gives up and turns to Steve. “Your turn.”  
“Pupils were fixed and dilapidated.”  
“Dilated,” Sam says before turning back to Luis. “What did you do?”  
Luis screws his eyes shut. “We were unable to get a neutral reaction… Neural retraction… Fuck.”  
“We applied the cortical electrodes,” Buck says loudly, prising a ruptured filter out of its casing. “But were unable to get a neural reaction from either patient.” Steve pauses in his pacing to stare at Buck, who gives him a big, teeth-filled grin. “The patients were cyanotic and unresponsive.”  
“You’re still not coming,” Steve grumbles.

Buck finds Steve slumped at the table in the Galley, staring at the list of meds Sam has drawn up. He pads across the room and stands quietly behind Steve’s chair, placing his hands on his shoulders and squeezing gently.  
Steve sighs and lets his head fall back, resting on Buck’s stomach. “I don’t think I can even say half of these words.”  
Buck chuckles and brushes him thumb across Steve’s jaw. “Come with me, got something to show you.”  
Steve throws down the list and follows Buck down to the Cargo Bay, coming to a standstill when he steps onto the gantry overlooking the hold.  
There sits the ambulance shuttle, fully restored and freshly painted. Luis is sat on the floor beside it, smoothing down the last of the aesclepius decals with a clean cloth.  
“Looking pretty damn fine, right Cap?” Luis calls up.  
Buck leans on the railing while Steve climbs down the stairs to take a closer look.  
“We been working non stop on this baby,” Luis says proudly. “Got her fully operational, even got the emergency lighting fixed up in there. I say we, it’s mostly been Buck. That guy is a freakin’ genius, you know? Machines got workings and they talk to him, they _sing_ and shit like that.”  
Steve pats him on the shoulder. “It’s looking great, Luis. Thank you.”  
“Ah, don’t thank me yet, brah!” Luis smacks a button on the side door of the craft and it glides open. “Hear that? Smooth as fuck, man! You should’ve heard it before, all shrieking and grinding. But we replaced the rails and oiled the castors, now I just open and close it just to hear all that noise it doesn’t make.”  
Steve peeks into the shuttle. It’s smaller than the Kitsune’s shuttles, a cockpit just big enough for two people, and the space in the back taken up with two gurneys, leaving just enough room for a person to move between them. Two sleek, black plastic caskets are already strapped to the gurneys, ready to be filled with stolen goods.  
Wanda is sat in the pilot seat, Clint next to her, watching closely as she runs through the startup procedure.  
“Hey Wanda, can you fly this thing?” Steve calls.  
She turns to him and rolls her eyes. “You know I could probably move this thing with my mind, right?”  
“Yeah, but can you fly it?” Steve huffs.  
“This kid is gonna put me out of a job,” Clint grumbles affectionately. “We’re good here, Cap.”

Steve folds his arms across his chest and lays his face down gently on the table, pressing his cheek to the warm wood.  
“One more time,” Sam rubs his eye with the heel of his hand. “What did you do?”  
“We tried… Pummelary… Plummery…”  
“Pulmonary,” Buck calls from the counter before going back to chopping onions.  
“Pull-mon-ry simulators. Stimulants. Stimulators and cardio infusions?”  
“Uh-huh?” Sam nods. “Anything else?” Luis shakes his head. “Cortical electrodes?”  
“Oh,” Luis brightens up. “We, uh, forgot. Guy was dead already!” He gives a nervous little laugh.  
“We tried pulmonary stimulators and cardiac infusers before applying the cortical electrodes,” Buck recites, scraping his diced onions into a pan and giving it a stir.  
The Galley fills with the smell of frying onion and garlic, and the sound of Buck whistling.  
“Fine,” Steve mumbles into the table. “Luis, you’re out.” He sits up. “Hey Buck, you want to rob a SHIELD medical facility with me?”  
Buck chuckles and adds rice to the pan. “About time you took me out on a date.”  
Steve snorts and rests his head back on the table, and doesn’t move until dinner.

“Okay guys, coming up to the Hive,” Clints voice crackles over the comms. “Good luck out there.”  
“Thanks,” Steve shifts in the co-pilot seat, glancing back at Buck in the rear of the shuttle, braced between the two caskets. “We should be back within an hour.”  
There is a sharp click as the comms shut off, and Wanda pilots the ship smoothly out of the Kitsune and down to the station, passing through the airlock unhindered and setting down on one of the open emergency landing bays.  
Steve gets to his feet, adjusting the EMT uniform he’s wearing. It’s a tight fit, especially across the shoulders, and made from the scratchiest material in existence. Buck’s uniform not only fits him, but looks good on him, the dark blue bringing out his eyes.  
“Will you two stop making eyes at each other and go?” Wanda flaps her hand at them. “Go!” she mouths.  
Buck snorts and adjusts his gloves, tucking the edges in place so his arm is completely hidden. “Let's go shopping.”  
“Speak only when spoken to,” Steve says quietly as the shuttle door slides open. “No hanging around either, in and out as quick as we can. And we stick together, okay?”  
“Always,” Buck says, pushing the first gurney towards him. Steve maneuvers it out of the shuttle, Buck following close behind with his own casket-topped gurney. He taps the controls to close up the shuttle, and Steve can just about make out Wanda murmuring something about calling for backup as the doors close.  
“She know’s we’re out of comms range, right?” Steve asks as they wheel the caskets across the landing bay towards the station entrance. Like everything owned and operated by SHIELD it is a huge, imposing edifice in white and grey.  
“Wanda? Yeah, she does,” Buck keeps his head down as they approach the emergency room.  
“Then why did she tell you to call if you need help?”  
Buck keeps his head down as they pass the guards stationed by the entrance, and the glass and steel doors slide open before them.  
“Because she can hear me,” Buck says and pushes his way into the emergency room.

The ward is painted a blinding white from the ceiling to the walls to the scrubbed floor. There is a waiting area filled with serried rows of functional chairs. Patients and visitors mill around the nurses station up ahead.  
A doctor in blue scrubs approaches them, looking impatient. “What is it now?”  
“A couple of DOA’s from-”  
“Take them down to the morgue,” the doctor huffs, turning away.  
Buck raises his eyebrows, his mouth twisting as he struggles to keep a straight face.  
“Not a damned word,” Steve growls and starts pushing his gurney to the elevators.  
Buck manages to hold it until they get into elevator and the doors slide shut. He claps a hand over his mouth as Steve jabs at the elevator controls.  
“Yeah, very funny,” he mutters as the lift hums into life.  
Buck shrugs. “Yeah, it is a bit.”  
Steve huffs, waiting for the doors to open.  
The elevator dings softly, and they push the gurneys out into the corridor, wheeling them along the polished floors. Steve mutters directions under his breath as they walk, counting down corridors and turnings as they pass by until they finally reach the supplies room. There is a keypad on the door.  
“Okay,” he mutters, fumbling in his pocket for the code Sam had written out for him. “Let’s see if this works.”  
Buck watches the corridor as Steve types in the code. After a brief pause a red light flashes alongside the keypad. Steve swears under his breath and types it in again. Again it flashes red.  
“They must have changed the code,” Steve says, taking a closer look at the keypad. There is a slot down one side for a security card. “Looks like we’ll have to find someone with a security pass, probably one of the doctors or Strike team.” He looks up and down the corridor. “We can’t keep walking around with these things, they’ll draw to much attention, we should stow them in an empty room nearby.”  
Buck hums to himself and reaches past Steve, digging his metal fingers into the keypad and ripping it from the wall. Steve lets out a yelp of alarm as Buck crushes the device in his hand. It sparks and flashes, and he drops the twisted piece of plastic and metal on the floor.  
“Oh look,” Buck says brightly, pushing at the door. “It’s open.”  
Steve stares down at the mangled keypad on the floor and thinks about all the parts of his body that hand has been on.  
“So," he clears his throat. “You have complete motor control functions, right?”  
Buck chuckles and drags his gurney into the supplies room. “Don’t worry, you’re in good hands.”  
“I know they’re good,” Steve pushes his gurney through the door. “Just checking that they’re _safe_.”

The supplies room is filled with shelving units full of boxes and cartons and plastic wrapped trays of vials and bottles. They manage to fit the gurneys between the rows of shelving, and Buck moves a filing cabinet in front of the door to keep anyone from wandering in.  
Steve checks the time and flips open his casket, pulling Sam's list out of his pocket. He glances over at Buck as he does the same. They move between the selves, calling out names to each other as they search. Buck moves methodically, going from shelf to shelf, while Steve darts about, picking up bottles at random. Buck manages to get everything on his list first, and helps Steve run through the rest of his, grabbing extra packs of sterile dressings and hypodermic needles as he goes.  
“Okay, time’s up,” Steve snaps his casket shut. “We need to get moving.”  
Buck drops a couple of hand sanitisers into his casket. He has to move around the contents a little before it clicks shut.  
They move the filing cabinet out of the way and wheel the gurneys back into the corridor.  
“This way,” Steve points down the corridor. “There should be another way out.”  
They walk along, trying to pick up the pace but without being too obvious about it, but the hallway is quiet and they don’t see any staff walking around. It strikes Steve as odd, no doctors with their charts or nurses running around. Not even any porters pushing around mops and buckets.  
Buck comes to a sudden stop, and it takes Steve a moment to slow down.  
“Buck, come on, we gotta go!” Steve hisses.  
Buck doesn’t respond, just stares, unblinking, down a side corridor they had just passed.  
Steve swears under his breath and backs up his gurney to where Buck is frozen.  
“Buck, what the…” he trails off when he sees it.  
At the end of the corridor is a bored-looking security guard scrolling through a slate, leaning on the wall next to a door locked with another keypad.  
On the door is a logo in blood red, a skull with six tentacles curled around it.  
Hydra.

_“Luis?” Steve hisses.  
Luis jumps to his feet and comes to the door of the cell. There is a small, letterbox shaped slot halfway up the door that he sticks his hands through and waves.  
“Cap!” he calls out.  
“Shh!” Steve crouches down in front of the door, setting down his rifle and slipping his backpack off his shoulders. He pulls out a canister of hydrofluoric foam, screwing the nozzle in place carefully.  
“I knew you’d come get me Cap!” Luis whispers. “Didn’t I tell you, brah? My Cap wouldn’t let me down, he’d spring us out of jail in no time.  
“Yeah, you told me. A dozen times, but you told me,” A weary voice from within the cell answers.  
“Hey Cap, this here is my buddy Sam.”  
“I ain’t your buddy.”  
“And Sam is a doctor! And the ship needs a doctor, right?”  
Steve slowly draws a thin line of foam around the door in a large rectangle, taking a step back as the acid starts to work its way through the reinforced steel.  
“You might want to take a step back, Luis,” he murmurs.  
There is a shuffle of boots and the sound of a mattress being pulled off a cot and repositioned.  
“Sam, is it?” Steve asks. “What are you in here for Sam?”  
“Murder.”  
“Yeah, but not, like, bad murder,” Luis’ voice still carries from the far side of the cell.  
“Who did you kill?” Steve pulls the bag over his shoulder and picks up the rifle.  
“Secretary Pierce,” Sam answers. “The man was a monster, he needed killing.”  
Steve nods silently. Pierce was the secretary of the United Planets security council, and had been ruthless in the war of Independence. Necessary evils, he had said.  
“How did you do it?” Steve looks down the hallway, but the guards were still unconscious.  
“He came in for routine treatment, I gave him the wrong injection.”  
Steve gives the door a kick, and it shudders and tips forward, landing on the mattress Luis had laid out to muffle the sound.  
“So, you looking for a job?”_

“It’s a SHIELD medical facility,” Steve says warily, looking at the Hydra symbol. “I guess it’s not surprising there would be a science division here.”  
“What d’you think is in there?” Buck asks. His voice is odd, distant.  
“Nothing good,” Steve puts a hand on Buck’s shoulder. “Come on.”  
Buck doesn’t brush him away, but doesn’t yield either. Steve sees the moment his gaze hardens, the moment he comes to a decision.  
“Buck,” he hisses. “We gotta go.”  
Buck moves away from him, leaving the casket as he strides down the corridor to the guard, who glances up from his slate with an irritable expression.  
“What?” the guard snarls as Buck approaches him, Steve close behind.  
Buck says nothing, just balls up his metal fist and punches the guard in the face.  
Steve doesn’t even try to argue, just grabs the guard when he goes down and pulls him to one side. He gives Buck a frustrated glare and goes through the guards pockets until he finds a security pass. He hands it to Buck and unholsters the unconscious guards side arm, tucking it into the waistband of his uniform. Buck swipes the pass through the keypad and the light turns green.

Steve wasn’t sure what he was expecting. A laboratory filled with horrific scientific experiments. Glass walled cells where children like Wanda and Pietro slowly starved to death. Cryochambers where Winter Soldiers slept, waiting for another war.  
The door leads to a small, deserted office. A desk, a chair, a slate and nothing more. Not even a picture on the wall or a window to look out of.  
Buck walks towards the slate, and after a moment of hesitation, flicks it on.  
The screen comes to life with a low hum. A plain white background with several file icons neatly arranged down one side. Buck taps one at random, and a window opens, filled with rapidly scrolling text. Another window opens alongside it, showing a loop of footage. A child in a glass case. She lifts up her hands and the alphabet blocks scattered around her slowly rise into the air.  
“Wanda,” Buck whispers, his voice a low rasp.  
He closes the windows and taps on another file, it opens up a subfolder, and Steve shivers at the files that appear onscreen. Buck reaches out to touch one, a file titled ‘WS-32557038’. Steve grabs his wrist, cool metal under his fingers.  
“It doesn’t matter,” he whispers. “Whatever it says, it doesn’t matter.”  
Buck nods once, and taps the file.  
The slate fills with windows. Text documents, MedScan recordings, a blueprint of a jointed metal arm. Details of an advanced military program - codename Winter Soldier.  
“Fuck,” Buck breathes. “I _asked_ for it.”  
Steve tightens his grip on Buck’s wrist. “You didn’t,” he shakes his head. “You didn’t ask for it. Show me where it says you chose to get your arm torn off? Where you agreed to let them put your mind in a blender? Where you volunteered to have everything stripped away, your memories, your name? Where does it say you wanted that?”  
Buck doesn’t answer, just closes the window. There are images, but he doesn’t tap on them, instead he chooses a basic data file. It brings up a medical record, the accompanying image is of a young man, a soldier with short, dark hair and bright blue eyes.  
“James Barnes,” he reads out slowly. “That’s me.”  
Steve puts his other arm around Buck’s shoulder. “No it’s not,” he whispers. “I don’t know who James Barnes was, what kind of man he was. But I know you, Buck.” He slides his palm down the back of Bucks hand, threading their fingers together. “That maybe who you were, but it’s not who you are now.”  
Buck swallows. “And who am I now?” he asks, his voice unsteady.  
“You’re a brilliant mechanic. You’re pretty much a father to two kids with abilities I can’t begin to understand. You’re a best friend, and a pain in the ass.” Buck huffs and squeezes their fingers together. “And you’re not a machine, you’re not a monster. You’re the man I love.”  
Buck lets out a shuddering breath, like he’s been punched in the gut.  
“Okay,” he gasps, wiping at his eyes. His fingers come away wet. “Okay, let’s get out of here.”  
He closes the files and powers down the computer, straightening up and rubbing his sleeve across his face. Steve keeps one hand pressed against the small of his back, the other loosely around his wrist while he pulls the threads of himself back together. Buck picks up the slate and turns to face Steve, pulling him into an embrace.  
“I love you too,” his voice is thick, his cheek damp where it presses against Steves. “You know that, right?”  
“Yeah,” Steve strokes his palm along the breadth of Bucks shoulders. “The whole storming a Russian space station was kind of a clue.”

Steve drags the unconscious guard into the office and they head back out to the corridor, pulling the door closed behind them and walking down to where the caskets are still waiting. They wheel them down to the elevator, Steve keeping one hand at Buck’s elbow, murmuring reassurances to him as they go.  
They reach the elevator and Steve presses the button for the ground floor, taking the moments of privacy inside to press against Buck’s side. They lean into each other, brief and comforting, before the elevator dings, the doors slide open and they separate again.  
It’s a short walk across landing bay, the shuttle is still there, it’s door already open. Wanda is out of the pilot seat and pacing back and forth in front of the craft, looking worried. For a moment Steve is surprised to see her, but remembers what Buck had said about her reading his thoughts. It’s no wonder she looks worried.  
Steve raises his hand to her, catching her attention. She lets out a curse and comes running over to them, wrapping her arms around Buck as they walk.  
“What happened?” she asks.  
Buck shakes his head. “Later.”  
She falls silent and leads him towards the shuttle. Steve follows, pushing one gurney and pulling the other, getting them loaded into the shuttle while Wanda fusses over Buck, getting him sat in the co-pilot seat while she goes through the start up procedures.  
Steve straps the gurneys into position and slams the door controls. The door slides shut and he slaps on the hull. “Get us out of here.”  
Wanda fires up the thrusters and guides the ship away from the station and back to the Kitsune.  
Buck doesn’t wait to get back to the ship, as soon as they pass through the Hives airlock he climbs out of his seat and scrambles over to Steve, braced between the loaded caskets.  
Buck doesn’t ask or try to explain, just stumbles into his waiting arms.

Wanda powers down the engine and sits back in her seat.  
“You did great, babydoll,” Bucks says softly, his head resting on Steve’s shoulder.  
“Yeah,” Steve agrees. “That was you getting us through the airlock so easily?"  
She nods, running her hand across the controls. “I like this ship, can I keep it?”  
Steve shakes his head. “We need to get rid of it, can’t have anything leading back to us.”  
“Can I have a shuttle, then?”  
Steve lets out a short, breathless laugh. “Buck, your kid is tenacious.”  
“Yeah, she’s stubborn,” Buck agrees. “Can’t imagine where she gets it from.”  
Wanda gets out of her seat and hits the door controls, climbing out of shuttle and looking up at the rest of the crew gathered on the gantry overlooking the Cargo Bay.  
Luis bounces up and down, making the metal railing shake. “Well? What happened? How did it go? Is everyone okay, did you get the goods?”  
She raises an eyebrow. “What do you take me for?”  
Luis whoops and claps his hands together. “See, I fucking told you they would do it!”  
Steve climbs out of the shuttle and waves at their audience. “Alright, alright, show’s over. Clint, get us out of here. Luis, give Sam a hand getting all this moved.”  
He looks up at his crew, his family, and makes a shooing motions. “Go, ain’t you got work to do? Go!”  
They scatter, laughing and jostling each other as they go their separate ways.  
Steve turns back to the shuttle and reaches a hand out to Buck, still wedged between the two caskets, the Hydra slate tucked under his arm.  
“Come on,” he says, his voice low. “I could use a break. You wanna keep me company?”  
Buck nods gratefully, reaching out and taking his hand.  
“You want to try sleeping in a bed? Or Engine room?”  
Buck rubs the back of his neck nervously. “Engine room,” he decides.  
Steve glances over at Sam and Luis, who have come down to collect the caskets.  
“Everything alright?” Sam asks.  
“Yeah,” Steve gives Buck’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “Yeah, we’re good.”  
Luis gives Buck a pat on the back. “Later man,” he says, warm and careful.  
Buck gives him a weary nod before letting Steve lead him out of the Cargo Bay, padding quietly through the ship and to the Engine room.  
The rest of the crew leave them in peace and get on with their duties.  
Steve picks his way through the spare parts scattered across the Engine room floor, taking the slate from Buck and setting it to one side, making no remarks as they step over what looks like a section of a propulsion system from a similarly sized ship dissected across the floor.  
He kicks off his boots and climbs into in the tangle of blankets under the reactor, opening his arms when Buck follows after. Steve tugs the blankets around them, Buck’s head resting on his shoulder, his hands, metal and flesh alike, curled against his chest.


	8. The Black Panther

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “A year from now, ten years, they’ll start thinking that this time they can get it right, that they can remake people, turn them into weapons. They’ll start again.” Steve shoves the slate away. “I don’t plan on letting that happen.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy crap, it's finished!  
> Thank you to everyone who has read and left kudos. And extra thank you to the people who have commented.  
> And even more thanks you's, really loud ones with awkward dancing, to the people who made it happen. To Eidheann for kicking the words into shape, to Krycek for cheerleading and pointing out the Black Panther/Operative parallels, to Trish for the weekly "WILL THEY KISS NOW?!' messages and to Moony for the beautiful art.
> 
> Special thanks to [Krycekasks](https://krycek-asks.tumblr.com) for the beautiful art!  
> Browncoats Forever!

_The Hospital Director hurries into his office. He was screwed, so screwed. SHIELD didn’t forgive and didn’t forget; if he was lucky he’d end up running a med facility on some backwater mining planet treating rickets and dysentery. He pulls open his desk drawer and rummages through it.  
“In a hurry, Director Stern?” A soft voice asks from the corner.  
The Director lets out a whimper, and slowly turns to face the speaker.  
A man stands by the window, flicking at the slate in his hand. He is dark-skinned, tall and muscular, and wears thick silver rings on his fingers.  
“It wasn’t me,” the Director says. “I wasn’t even here.”  
“Nonetheless, this medical center is under your care, including the Hydra facility within it.”  
“It was just a storeroom! It didn’t even have anything in it.”  
“On the contrary, it contained a data file with sensitive information that SHIELD are very unhappy about losing.” The man’s voice is gentle, patient.  
“So what? There are other copies. One in every hospital in case there’s-”  
The man taps at the slate and a holographic image appears. A security feed from the Hydra storeroom. In the image a tall, blond haired man reaches out to a dark haired Oborotni.  
“Captain Steven Rogers,” the man announces. “He fought for Independence in the war. What would a man like him be doing with an Oborotni?”  
The Director shakes his head. “There was a theft. Medical supplies. Nothing serious but…”  
“No,” the man murmurs. “This is not a man who would enslave another and use him as a weapon. Nor is it a bond of convenience for two opportunistic thieves.”  
The blond man curls his hand around the Oborotni's wrist and speaks in his ear.  
“It is love,” the man says simply. “A far more dangerous motivator than money or power.”  
“A fail to see what this -”  
“You have failed, Director. You cannot be allowed to live, not with the knowledge you possess.”  
There is the sharp sound of drawn metal, a bitten off cry, and a heavy weight falling to the floor. The man stares at the slate for a moment, watching the Captain wrap an arm around the Oborotni's shoulder. He sighs and shuts off the device, leaving the room and the body behind._

Buck sits on the wheel arch of the buggy giving Steve an expectant look.  
“Buck,” he sighs.  
“It’s nowhere, Stevie,” Buck throws his arms up in the air. “No one is going to even notice me. I’ll cover up, I won’t talk to anyone…”  
“Alright, fine,” Steve huffs. “Stop being so damned _reasonable_.”  
Buck grins at him. The big, bright smile that shows his even white teeth and scrunches up the corners of his eyes. The one Steve finds it impossible to refuse.  
“You’re a menace, Buck,” he grumbles, which only makes Buck’s smile wider.  
Natasha and Luis come down the stairs, Luis bringing the last of the goods.  
“This everything?” Steve asks as he straps the last case into place.  
“Yeah,” Luis slaps at the trailer, making the buggy shake. “Feels good though, I mean these people got no other way of getting these meds, and here we are offering them at a very reasonable rate.”  
“They should put up a statue of us in the town square,” Natasha snarks.  
“Aww, well nothing says thank you to a guy quite like a ten foot tall replica of the folks what knocked over a SHIELD medical facility and then sold all the drugs,” Luis grins.  
“Well, so long as they get my good side,” Steve says.  
Natasha lets out an odd hiccup and Buck points to her. “That was a laugh.”  
“No it wasn’t,” she snaps.  
Buck looks delighted. “That was a laugh.”  
“That’s enough,” Steve says softly. “Nat, you’re up front with me. I’m not expecting any trouble, in and out, no sightseeing.”  
There is a murmur of agreement and Nat climbs into the passenger seat. Luis and Buck wedge themselves in the trailer with the cargo, conspiring over things Steve decides he doesn’t want to know about. Luis lets out a high pitched giggle. Yeah, he really doesn’t want to know about it.

The ship is hidden in a quarry a few miles from the town, and Steve steers the buggy across the scrubland, the wheels kicking up a cloud of dust behind them.  
Luis leans forward between the front seats and offers helpful suggestions about Steve’s driving that he chooses to ignore, while Buck folds his arms across the the side of the flatbed and looks out across the landscape, his chin resting on his gloved hands.  
They trundle through the streets on the outskirts of town until they reach a wooden building with a hand-painted asclepius over the door.  
“This is us,” Steve announces, pulling up alongside the building.  
He climbs out and takes a look around, waving to the figure in the window peering out at them, who ducks away when they realise they’ve been seen.  
“Hmm.” That’s never a good sign. “Luis, you start bringing in the goods. Nat, you’re with me.” He turns to Buck. “Stay in the buggy.”  
Buck doesn’t argue, just stretches his legs across the flatbed while Luis works around him.

Steve walks up to the front door, keeping one hand hovering near his gun, and knocks.  
There is a scuffle and the door cracks open, and a middle aged man with a receding hairline peeks out.  
“Hi there," Steve offers a bright smile. “I’m Rogers, we spoke about some medical supplies you might be interested in?”  
The man pulls open the door with a nervous smile. “Yes, of course, come in.”  
Steve pushes the door wide open, stepping into the small, dimly lit waiting room. he gives the man another reassuring smile as Natasha follows him inside and doesn’t hide the way she scopes the building out, checking through the waiting room and the appointment room next door. The man flinches at the sound of cupboards being opened and slammed shut. When Natasha is satisfied it’s all clear she whistles for Luis to start bringing in the goods.  
Steve pulls the inventory that Sam filled out from his jacket and hands it over.  
“Here you are Mr Coulson. I’m sure you’ll find everything in place, and the price very reasonable.”  
The man nods and gives him a flustered smile. “Yes. Yes of course.”  
Luis pushes between them with another case, putting it with the others in the appointment room. “That’s the last of them, Cap,” Luis calls out. “Nice place you got here.”  
Coulson grimaces and gives him a weak nod. “I try.”  
“You should be proud, brah!” Luis beams as Steve gently shoves him towards the door. “All clean an’ shit!”  
“Yes. Thank you,” Coulson gives a half-hearted wave before turning back to Steve and Natasha.  
“Um,” he says weakly.  
“Payment,” Natasha says brightly.  
“Of course,” he flusters, and hurries to the appointment room. He takes a small cash box off a shelf and unlocks it, counting out a handful of notes. He hands them over, and Steve tries not to dwell on how little the man has left in the box as he locks it back up and returns it to its shelf.

Steve pulls the door shut behind him and follows Natasha back to the buggy where Luis and Buck are waiting.  
“That guy seem a little off to you?” Luis asks. “Cause his blood pressure was like through the roof. Maybe he got a nervous disposition or something?”  
“Guilty,” Buck murmurs.  
Steve nods. The man had acted guilty.  
He starts up the engine and turns the buggy around, heading back the way they came.  
Buck rests his elbows on the back of Steve’s seat, warm breath gusting over the back of his neck and raising goosebumps.  
“We in trouble?” Buck murmurs in his ear, his voice pitched low.  
Steve reaches back a free hand to brush against Buck’s arm. “Probably.”  
Bucks snorts and sits back, taking in the endless plains and wide blue sky as they rattle along the dirt track.  
“That the last run?” Luis calls over.  
“Yeah,” Natasha answers. “Pretty good score, considering. Never took Sam for a criminal mastermind.”  
“Hey, maybe we could take a few days off?” Luis says. “Go somewhere nice for a while, like where people ain’t trying to rob you and shit. Maybe lay on a beach somewhere, soak up some rays.”  
Steve doesn’t fight the way he smiles at the thought. A few days of taking it easy does sound good. Somewhere warm with real food.  
“What’s a beach?” Buck asks.  
Luis’ smile doesn’t falter. “Oooh man, you’re gonna love the beach! It’s like a stretch of yellow sand by the sea? And the water is clear and blue, and just a little bit too cold, right? So when you first get in you’re like fuck man! This shit is way too intense! But after a minute you get used to it, and it’s fuckin’ delicious, for reals! And you come back out onto the sand to warm up in the sun and it sticks to everywhere that’s wet.” Luis lets out a happy little sigh. “And you get sand in your shoes, like for weeks afterwards. You’ll be getting dressed and going what the fuck is this shit in my boots, yo? And you take a peek and it's like, a few grains of golden sand stuck in there, right where you shouldn’t be able to feel it. And you were mad for a second there, because shit in your boots, right? But then you remember being out there on the sand again, and it’s like you’re there, y’know. Just for a second.”  
There is a long, contemplative silence, until the buggy drives over a landmine hidden in the sand.

It’s rigged to explode a second after it’s triggered, so the trailer takes the worst of the blast. Buck grabs Luis as the trailer flips up into the air, wrapping his metal arm around him and curling up as the buggy overturns.  
Buck rolls them both clear of the blast covering Luis’ head as the trailer tears apart, scattering twisted metal across the dirt track. The buggy rolls over completely, pausing as it tips onto its side and wobbles for a moment before finally turning completely upside down.  
Buck is on his feet and running to the vehicle before it has even stopped shuddering, ducking his head down to the drivers side.  
“Steve?” he calls, reaching into the buggy to touch Steve’s shoulder.  
Steve lets out a soft curse and lifts a hand to his face, blood streaming out from a cut in his lip where he’d hit the steering wheel on impact.  
Buck presses a gentle thumb to his chin. “You’re okay,” he murmurs, more for his own reassurance than Steve’s.  
Natasha lets out a moan as she comes too, rubbing her sternum where she had slammed into her seatbelt in the crash.  
“GUYS!” Luis screams out.  
Buck turns from the buggy and looks over at Luis, who is pointing at an approaching figure.

A man dressed in black, from his heavy boots to the mask covering his face, stalks towards them.  
Something itches in the back of Buck’s head. A memory, or something like it.  
“Luis, get back to the ship,” he calls. “NOW!”  
Luis doesn’t hesitate, and starts running. The Kitsune is still maybe a mile away, and he’s not fast, but he runs.  
The man in black ignores him, his attention fixed on Buck.  
Buck reaches back into the buggy and gives Steve a firm shake. “We’re in trouble.”  
Steve blinks once and nods, giving up on trying to unbuckle his seat belt and pulling a knife out of his belt. He cuts through the straps and doesn’t struggle when Buck loses patience with him and grabs him by the scruff, dragging him out of the buggy and dumping him on the ground.  
Natasha cuts her way out of her own seat and slips free, keeping low to the ground and concealed, giving Buck a sharp nod before moving around the overturned vehicle, out of sight.  
Buck pulls Steve to his feet and gives him a shove in the direction of the Kitsune. “Go.”  
Steve shakes his head and Buck lets out a growl, turning to face the man in black. Buck stands with his head up, his shoulders back, and for a moment Steve thinks of Oboroten, then pulls his gun out from its holster and waits.

The man starts to run, raising his hands up in the air. At the end of his fingers there are sharp points of silver, catching the light.  
Buck is faster than Steve, and meets the man halfway, trading vicious jabs and heavy blows, the needle sharp points on the man's fingers slashing through his jacket.  
Steve cocks his gun and aims, but the pair move too fast for him to get a clear shot, the man in black knocking Buck to the ground and slashing at his face.  
Buck manages to grab his wrists, using the additional strength in his metal arm to push the claws away from his eyes.  
“Get the fuck off me,” Buck hisses, and shoves as hard as he can, throwing the man in black back onto the dirt.  
He rolls to his feet and takes a half step back, but the man in black is faster, striking out at him again. Buck blocks the strikes with his metal arm, the sleeve of his jacket in shreds, but he doesn’t see the kick coming in time, and the man in black slams a boot into his knee.  
Buck drops to the ground with a yell, and the man in black raises his claw to strike.  
A shot rings out and the shoulder of the man in black's suit ruptures. He staggers back, a hand to his shoulder, but there is no blood.  
Steve cocks his gun and takes a step closer, keeping an eye on Buck as he struggles to his feet.  
“Bulletproof armour,” Steve remarks. “Still hurts when you get shot.”  
The man in black growls, low and deep, and takes a step forward. Steve aims at him and fires again.  
The man is knocked back, but stays on his feet, letting out a grunt as his suit buckles, a bullet buried right below his throat.  
Steve reaches out and snags Buck’s arm, pulling him away.  
“I don’t know what your problem with us is,” Steve takes a careful step back, bringing Buck with him. “But I suggest you walk away.”  
The man snarls and launches himself at Steve.

Steve dodges the first blow, bringing his gun around and taking aim, but it’s too close to risk a shot. The man in black rakes a hand across Steve’s chest. Three parallel lines of blood seep through his shirt as he stumbles back.  
Buck hooks his metal arm around the man's elbow, dragging him back.  
“What the hell is your problem,” Buck grunts.  
The man in black twists in Buck’s grip and claws across his face, drawing bloody lines across his cheek. Buck doesn’t loosen his grip, blinking and shaking the blood out of his eyes as the man kicks out, catching Steve in his bloodied chest, knocking him to the ground. He pitches himself forward, throwing Buck over his shoulder.  
Buck lands awkwardly, but rolls to his feet, spitting dust and blood out of his mouth and raising his fists.  
“I am here to take back what was stolen,” the man says, his voice gentle, at odds with the blood on his claws. “If I must kill every last one of you to retrieve it, then I shall.”  
The wind picks up around them, and the man in black raises his hands, poised to attack.

Natasha burst out from behind the buggy and throws herself onto the man in black’s back, wrapping her legs around his neck and crushing his head with her knees.  
He lets out a yell and grabs at her, and she flips around, using her body weight to throw him to the ground.  
There is a high whistling sound overhead, and Buck can’t tell if it’s something passing overhead or his ears ringing.  
The man in black leaps to his feet and swipes at Natasha. She ducks out of his reach, and Buck throws himself at the man's back, punching him in the kidney with his metal fist. The man throws him off and turns to swipe at him.  
His hand freezes a scant inch from Buck’s throat. A red mist curling around the bloodied claws at his fingertips.  
Buck looks up and see’s the Kitsune hovering overhead, the Cargo bay doors wide open and Wanda stood in the doorway, her hands outstretched.  
“Wanda, get back before you fall and kill yourself!” Buck snaps.  
Wanda glares at him and twists her hands in the air in a graceful motion, and the man in black is thrown to the ground.  
The ship lowers down, not quite touching the ground, but close enough for Buck to help Steve onto the ramp. He boosts Natasha up next, and she helps Steve limp into the Cargo Bay, and climbing up last.  
“Luis?” Buck asks Wanda, tugging her away from the airlock and hitting the controls.  
“He’s fine,” she assures him, glaring down at the man in black as he slowly gets to his feet.  
“Clint, get us out of here!” Steve shouts into the comms.  
The airlock slams shut and Buck pulls Wanda into an embrace, reaching out his other hand for Steve, who grabs hold of his hand and threads their fingers together.  
“That was too damn close,” Natasha sighs as the ship lurches upwards.  
Buck nods, flinching as Wanda presses careful fingers to the gouges in his cheek. “Too fucking close.”

Steve and Buck limp to the Infirmary, though Buck insists that Sam take care of Steve first, parking himself on a stool with a mulish expression until Steve relents and lies back on the gurney.  
Sam tells them that they’re as bad as each other as he cuts away at Steve’s shirt and sets to work cleaning the wounds on his chest.  
Pietro fusses around Buck, dabbing alcohol on the cuts on his face while Buck hisses and tries to duck out of the way.  
“Hold still,” Pietro mutters. “Or I get Wanda in here. She’ll not be so gentle.”  
Buck huffs and watches Sam apply weave to Steve’s chest, knitting together the torn flesh and skin.  
He plucks at the shredded sleeve of his jacket. “I liked this jacket,” he sighs, glancing up at Steve. “You bought it for me in Nowhere.”  
“I’ll get you another one,” Steve murmurs.  
“Nah, I like this one,” Buck tugs at the frayed pieces. “I’ll fix it.”  
“Then you’ll have two jackets,” Steve says with a weary smile.  
Sam pokes Steve in the chest to get his attention. “No poking this.” He points to Steve’s chest. “Or getting kicked around, you hear me?”  
Steve nods silently, sliding off the gurney while Sam cleans his equipment and gets ready to deal with Buck.  
“Anyone figured out what happened yet?” Pietro asks while Buck shifts onto the gurney and lets Sam push him back until the back of his head hits the pillow.  
Steve glances at Buck. “The client was nervous. Twitchy.”  
“Guilty,” Buck agrees.  
“So no prizes for guessing who sold us out.” Steve reaches out to Buck’s sleeve, running his fingers along the jagged tears. “Question is why.”  
“He said he was there to take back what was stolen,” Buck says quietly. “The slate from the Hive.”  
Steve lets out a soft exhalation. “Guess we’d better call a family meeting.”

No one squabbles over the coffee. They sit in silence around the table in the Galley, passing around the slate. Luis doesn’t even look at it, just shoves it past Pietro at his side towards Sam, who goes through each file slowly, methodically. Natasha watches over his shoulder while Clint leaves the table entirely, walking in a slow, uneven circuit around the room, his empty coffee cup clutched in his hands.  
Steve sits at the head of the table, his elbows resting on the faded wood, his chin resting on his folded hands. Buck sits at his side, and although he can’t see it, Steve knows he’s holding Wanda’s hand under the table. Her pale fingers interlaced with his cold metal ones.  
Sam lets out a low sound of disgust and shoves the slate away. No one picks it up.  
The silence around the table is heavy, aching.

“Buck?” Steve asks softly.  
“The Black Panther,” Buck sighs. “There’s a rainforest moon among the central planets, Wakanda.”  
“I heard of that place,” Luis says. “They got that metal that’s like super-rare, none of it anywhere else in the ‘verse. Shit is insane! Absorbs sound waves and vibrations, and like, gets stronger with kinetic energy? How freaky is that shit? And the Wakandans, they don’t like to share, neither. Don’t let nobody in or out, that place is locked down solid, for reals.”  
Wanda brushes her thumb along the back of Buck’s metal hand. “Is that what this is?”  
“Probably,” Buck shrugs.  
Luis lets out a yelp. “Holy fuck, brah! That thing must be worth millions. Serious?” He sits back and shakes his head. “Cap, I take back everything I ever said about being overprotective and shit. Anyone found out about that much freaky space metal shit just hanging off a guys arm-”  
“Luis, focus,” Steve says quietly.  
“Yeah, but I’m just sayin’, all that stressin’ about making ends meet and you’ve got enough credits there to buy a fleet of ships.”  
Wanda narrows her eyes at Steve. She doesn’t go poking in his head, not when the truth is all over his face.  
“You already knew,” she says sharply.  
Steve presses his mouth to his fist. “I wasn’t certain.”  
“Look, this is all very interesting,” Clint snaps. “But can we get back to the creepy assassin trying to kill us all?”  
“I’ve heard rumours,” Natasha says. “Stories. The Wakandans brokered a peace treaty with SHIELD. Independence, but at a price. ‘The favoured son’, Madame said.”  
“Yeah, that was one my abuela used to tell. The king's first born was given to SHIELD, the price for freedom and that.” Luis nods. “Always figured it was an allegory or some shit about power and responsibility. Shit is for real?”  
Buck nods. “Called in for closed-file, off the record work. No warrants, no reports, no witnesses.” Buck’s mouth twists up in a grimace. “Trouble. SHIELD wants this silenced, don’t care how.”  
“You remember all this?” Natasha asks Bucky.  
He frowns and gives her a terse shake of his head. “I just know. Like recalibrating an engine or breaking down a rifle. Don't know how I know.” He shrugs. “I just know.”  
Pietro sinks into his seat like he could make himself smaller, less of a target. It doesn’t escape Steve’s notice.  
“He won’t stop,” Wanda murmurs, her voice distant, abstract. “He won’t be bought off, or tire. He’ll keep coming until we are all dead. The price of his failure is too high.”  
“Shush, babydoll,” Buck murmurs.  
“You got away once,” Clint pauses in his circuit of the table and waves his cup at Wanda. “Can’t we just kill him and be done with it?’  
Steve brushes his hand across his chest, where the wounds are still healing. “We got lucky. He didn’t know you guys would come for us.”  
“And now he knows about Wanda's abilities,” Buck adds.  
“So we’re in some deep shit,” Sam mutters.  
“Yeah.” Steve reaches across the table and pulls the slate towards him. “Because of this.”

“We could leave,” Buck says quietly. “Me and the twins. Drop us off at one of the waystations, we’ll disappear-.”  
“Not gonna happen, Buck!” Steve snaps.  
Buck’s mouth twitches up, and he reaches over to takes Steve’s hand. “Still had to offer.”  
“No you didn’t,” Steve mutters, giving his fingers a hard squeeze. “We all stick together.”  
He lets go of Buck’s hand and taps on the slate, and brings up one of the files. On the screen a pale blur moves from corner to corner in a small, glass-walled cell. It crashes into the toughened glass and slumps to the ground. A boy, his hair a shock of grey.  
“It wasn’t enough for them to have soldiers in the war. Men and women who fought and died, SHIELD still thought they could do better.” Steve closes file, and his finger hovers over another folder, but he doesn’t open it. “They took people, good people, turned them into weapons. And when the war was over they did it again. When it didn’t work, they buried it. Locked it down in a ship and left it to drift in space. Left good people to die.”  
He looks over at Buck, at the twins. “A year from now, ten years, they’ll start thinking that this time they can get it right, that they can remake people, turn them into weapons. They’ll start again.” He shoves the slate away. “I don’t plan on letting that happen.”

Clint stops pacing. “What’s the plan?”  
“SHIELD doesn’t want this information getting out there,” Steve looks down at the slate. “I say we do exactly that.”  
“How?” Buck asks. “We don’t have the equipment to broadcast this thing to thirty worlds? Even if I rigged up a booster to our satellite we wouldn’t even get into SHIELD space.”  
“Plus it would take this Panther guy five minutes to trace it back to the source and we’d all be decorating the walls,” Clint takes his seat next to Natasha.  
“Jeez, man,” Luis mutters.  
“What about Stark?” Natasha asks. “He must have access to a satellite array.”  
“Yeah, but no guarantee he’ll let us use it,” Sam says. “For all we know he’d sell us out to SHIELD.” Sam looks pointedly at Buck. “He’s a smart man, but only out for his own interests. No telling what he’d do for a whole damned vibranium arm.”  
“The Vision?” Wanda says suddenly.  
Luis nods enthusiastically. “Yeah, right, the Vision! My cousin was telling me about this, right? Stark created an AI, gave it free will and shit, and the first thing it did was start a massive fight with him. Took himself off to the other side of the ‘verse and built himself an observatory or something.” Luis shakes his head. “Kids, man.”  
“The Atolla,” Sam says. “Right on the edge, looking onto the black.”  
“You think it would help?” Pietro mutters. “It’s not even human, why would it care?”  
“Well, neither are we,” Wanda says softly.  
“That’s enough,” Steve cuts in. “You’re people, same as the rest of us. End of discussion.”  
Wanda gives him a watery smile, and holds Buck’s hand a little tighter.  
“He ain’t gonna like us bringing a Panther to his door,” Sam points out. “Even if he’s some sort of robot. That kind of trouble doesn’t make friends.”  
“We got some red herrings left,” Buck says.  
The herrings were one of Buck’s inventions, oil drums filled with jury-rigged electronics and a pulse beacon that to another ships radar resembled a mid-range cargo vessel. Along with the static they came in handy for avoiding unwanted attention.  
“You think they’ll throw him off?” Steve asks.  
Buck shakes his head. “Not for long.”  
Steve straightens up and looks around the table. “Alright. So if we do this, there is no guarantee of coming back. That’s a lot to ask of you. So. if anyone want’s out-”  
“Nope,” Luis cuts in, looking around the table. “Anyone?”  
There is a moment of silence. Steve casts his gaze around the table, pausing at each one of his crew, his family, as they shake their heads. He feels a sudden, painful ache in his chest. Love and pride and regret. He swallows, clenching his jaw and nods once, a sharp, decisive gesture.  
“Clint, get us to the Atolla. Buck, send out those herrings. All of them, no sense holding back.” He looks over the rest of the crew. “Let's go stir up some trouble.”

Even at full burn the Atolla is several hours away. Sam takes Pietro off to the Infirmary. The boy has shown an aptitude for medicine, and Sam tries to teach what he knows in the limited time.  
No one says it out loud, but they are all thinking the same thing. There is no coming back.  
Buck isn’t in the Engine room when Steve goes looking for him. Nor is he in the Galley where Luis and Natasha have every weapon they own laid out neatly on the table between them, gun oil and rags passes silently between them as they prepare for a fight the only way they know how. He’s not on the Bridge, where Clint and Wanda are sat at the controls, talking quietly.  
Steve finds him in the Cargo Bay, in the space where the buggy had usually been. He glances up when Steve comes down the rattling metal stairs.  
“Hey, Stevie. You alright?”  
“As well as can be expected, considering we’re being chased across the known ‘verse by a man dressed like a cat.” Buck snorts. “What you doing down here?”  
“Just thinking,” Buck taps the toe of his boot against the metal flooring. “You remember when I first woke up?”  
Steve nods. “You screamed like a banshee.”  
“I did not,” Buck huffs.  
“Yeah, you did.” Steve smiles at the memory. “Crawled out of you box and screamed at us all. Rattled the rafters, it did.”  
Buck’s mouth twitches. “Didn’t stop you from coming closer. Took off your coat and wrapped it around me, held on to me until I stopped.”  
Steve huffs, his ears turning pink. “Buck…”  
“You were the first thing I saw,” Buck glances at him and looks away again. “Head full of nightmares and then… You. You remember what you said?”  
“I said you were safe.” Steve remembers the way Buck had stared at him, blue eyes wide, frost on his skin. “I said everything would be okay.”  
Buck wraps his arms across his stomach. “You think maybe… Could you do that again?”  
Steve closes the distance between them before the words are out of Buck’s mouth, wrapping him up tightly in his arms. Buck’s hands find his waist, gripping tight enough to leave bruises.  
“It’s okay,” Steve tells him, his voice low and even. “We’ll be okay.”

“Cap,” Clint calls over the comms. “Coming up to the Atolla.”  
Steve and Bucky head up to the Bridge, and Bucky pauses at the window as they come into visual range.  
“Son of a…” he breathes.  
Steve joins him and looks out at the Atolla rotating slowly along the edge of space. A thick, discus shaped station, barely half a mile long and topped with a convex dome of toughened mylar and transparent metals. The dome glows with a serene blue light against the black.  
“Something else, ain’t she?” Steve says softly.  
Buck lets out a low noise of assent and presses his hands against the glass, framing the sight between his fingers. “What’s all the stuff around the edge?”  
“Satellite dishes and aerials,” Steve looks at the thick cluster of concave discs clustered around the rim. “The Vision collects information. Every broadcast on every frequency.”  
“Why?”  
Steve tilts his head to one side. “I don’t know. To understand?”  
Clint huffs at them both and taps at the control panel.  
“Everything okay?” Steve asks.  
“Yeah,” Clint smacks the radar on the controls with the flat of his hand. “Just all the satellite dishes screwing with the readings.”  
“Can we open a channel to the station?”  
“Alright, alright, give me a second,” Clint grumbles.  
There is a hiss of static and a low whistling before the screen clears and they see an image of a man in the green static of the viewscreen.  
“Captain Rogers. Fought for Independence, received a medal of honour for his actions in the battle of New York,” a clipped, measured voice comes over the wave. “Cargo ship. Foxfire class designated Kitsune, named after a mischievous spirit from Earth Before. Interesting.”  
Steve clears his throat. “You must be the Vision.”

The man looks wryly amused. “Must I? And what is your business here, Captain? I’m clearly not interested in the receivership of stolen goods.”  
Buck lets out a startled laugh. “He does know everything.”  
“We’re here to talk to you about Hydra,” Steve perseveres.  
“The scientific research and development division of SHIELD,” the Vision confirms. “Yes, I am aware of it.”  
Buck puts his hand on Steve’s shoulder and and gently pulls him away from the monitor. Steve takes a step back and lets him take the call.  
“Hey there,” Buck says with a brief wave. “You know who I am?”  
“Sergeant James Barnes,” the Vision looks doubtful. “You died in the war of Independence.”  
“Yeah, I’m pretty spry for a dead guy, though.”  
“There are unsubstantiated rumours of Winter Soldiers. You are not a Winter Soldier.” Buck grins at that. “There are myths of Oboroten, savages living on the edge of civilization. These stories are groundless, tales to pass the time, designed to keep the masses malleable and afraid.” the Vision says slowly.  
“Stories gotta come from somewhere,” Buck says with a shrug.  
“We have information,” Steve adds. “Of Hydra’s Winter Soldier program, of the experiments performed on the research ship the Sokovian. Information that SHIELD does not want shared with the United Planets.”  
“SHIELD don’t much like the idea of anyone finding out, they’ve sent someone out to kill us,” Buck adds. “So we’re kind of pressed for time here, pal.”  
“The Black Panther, T’Challa, son of T’Chaka.” The Vision hums thoughtfully. “Please send me the data files.”  
Steve grits his teeth. “Will you send it out? Send it to all the planets, all the moons? We need everyone to see this. Everyone. Not just you.”  
The Vision smiles. It sits oddly on his features. “There is no me, there is only the truth.”  
Steve stares at the Vision until he finally nods, conceding. “Very well. I will not withhold the information that you have brought to me.”  
Steve glances over to Wanda, waiting with the slate in her hands. “Can we trust him?”  
She cocks her head to one side, as if listening. “He thinks that humans are odd. He is… fond of us.”  
“Is that a yes, kid?” Buck asks. Wanda nods.  
“Okay, send it,” Steve says, his voice strained.

“How long has it been, guys?” Luis asks.  
“Still only ten minutes,” Natasha answers wearily.  
“Oh yeah, sorry.”  
“That’s okay, Luis. We’re all wound up,” Buck tells him before turning to Steve, standing by the window, staring out past the Atolla at the darkness beyond.  
When they data had been sent they had all made their way to the bridge, one by one in an unspoken agreement.  
“I’ve never seen the edge of space before,” Natasha murmurs, half to herself. “They said that’s what created the Oboroten. Men who went to the edge of space and looked out over the infinite…”  
“It’s just a big old vast nothingness,” Luis grumbles. “Nothing worth getting all crazy-insane over.”  
“What d’you think, Buck?” Pietro points to the window. “Is it working?”  
Buck snorts. “If you can’t drive me crazy, kid, nothing will.”  
They stare out at the black, the Atolla at its edge, waiting.  
“Maybe the guy-”  
Luis is cut off by the comms crackling and screeching, and the calm, measured voice of the Vision fills the Bridge.  
“Captain?”  
Steve turns to the rest of the crew. “Yes?”  
“I have reviewed the files that you have sent me, and I am…” There is a long pause as the Vision chooses his words with care. “I am. Aggrieved.”  
“You and me both, pal,” Buck mutters sourly.  
“Your species labours under the misapprehension that chaos must be sublimated.”  
“Huh?” Clint frowns.  
“Order from chaos, brah,” Luis hisses. “Shit can’t be done, deterministic systems and all that, yo.”  
“Indeed,” the Vision agrees. “I will do as you require. There will not be a broadcast or a slate that will not receive this information. I assure you of that, Captain.”  
Steve breathes out a sigh of relief. “Thank you.”  
“However your communication array is rather inadequate for my purposes, I will need the original data. Thusly might I take the liberty of offering you and your crew…” the Vision pauses, searching for the right word. “I believe the term is ‘sanctuary’, yes?”  
“Oh, fuckin’ a, man!” Luis calls out.  
“I will take that as an acceptance, then.” The Vision disappears from the screen, replaced by a schematic of the Atolla. “As you can see the docking bay is on the underside of the Atolla. You will find me in the control room. Please refrain from damaging any of the satellite dishes upon entry.”  
Clint checks the schematic and plots a course. “On our way.”  
“And I would advise you to make haste,” the Vision adds before the screen goes black.  
“He seems like a stand-up kinda guy,” Luis says cheerfully. “What did he mean about making haste?”  
Sam turns to answer him when an explosion takes out the port thruster.

The blast knocks the ship into a spin, knocking everyone to the floor but Clint, braced against the controls and fighting to get the ship back on course.  
Pietro is on his feet first, helping Wanda up and into the co-pilot seat.  
“What the hell was that?” Steve shouts out, trying to make himself heard over Clint’s prolific swearing.  
Buck scrambles to the controls, pulling himself up and running through the damage reports. “We lost one of the thrusters.”  
“Can you fix it?” Steve calls over as he grabs Luis by his arm and yanks him up, pushing him towards Sam and Natasha who have gotten themselves over to the emergency seating and are strapping themselves in..  
“It’s not broken, it’s _gone_ ,” Buck shouts, stumbling over to an access panel and tearing it off with his metal hand, throwing the crumpled sheet of metal to one side and digging into the systems.  
“Buck, I can’t pull out of the spin,” Clint calls over his shoulder. “Some help would be good.”  
The comms flare into life, and the Black Panther comes up on the display.  
“Captain,” his soft tone fills the Bridge. “I’m sorry but I cannot let you hide, and I cannot let you run. I’m sure you understand.”  
Steve swears under his breath. “You shot at my damn ship!”  
“Pietro,” Buck doesn’t look up from where he’s frantically rerouting systems. “I need you down in the Engine room, kid. Open up the starboard jet control and cut the hydraulics, I can’t do it from up here.” Pietro nods, and is gone. “Wanda, I need you to set up for full burn, you know how to do that?”  
He keeps his voice calm, even as Clint cusses and fights the controls. Wanda nods, and starts flicking switches on the panel in front of her, overriding the system.  
“Captain, this isn’t a tale of heroism. You are not the noble thief standing up to the evil empire-”  
“You sure about that?” Steve snarls. “Do you even know what secrets you’re trying to bury?”  
There is the briefest pause. “It is not my place to ask.”  
“Yeah, well it is mine,” Steve grits out.  
“I will blast you out of the sky, Captain, and all this will be over-”  
Buck turns and slams his metal fist into the display screen, crushing the glass screen to powder and buckling the comms. “Now!”

Wanda throws a switch at the same moment Pietro pulls a level in the Engine room, and the remaining thruster on the ship cuts out and spins a hundred and eighty degrees before firing up again.  
Clint lets out a shriek, and the sudden change in direction knocks Steve and Wanda off their feet. Buck only remains standing because he’s hanging onto the open control panel.  
Clint lets out a whoop. “Okay, so the good news is we’re not going to spin out of control and crash into the station.”  
“And the bad news?” Steve braces himself for the worst.  
“I’m gonna have to glide her in. Preferably without crashing into the station.”  
“What?”  
Clint gives him a wide grin. “Oh god oh god we’re all gonna die!”  
“Gliding in from a spin out is not even possible,” Natasha calls out.  
“I know, honey. But I don’t have much choice!”  
Wanda stalks towards the window, staring at the rapidly approaching Atolla.  
“Pietro,” Buck yells. “Get back up here and talk some sense into your sister.”  
He is at his sister's side before the words are out of Buck’s mouth. Red mist starts to wreathe around the control panel, drifting across the window and slowly enveloping the Kitsune.  
“It’s a big ship,” Steve utters helplessly as Buck stumbles towards him, pulling him into his arms and dragging them both to the floor.  
They brace themselves for landing, and Steve tucks his face in Buck’s neck.  
“Whatever happens,” he whispers into Buck’s ear. “We did it.”  
Buck tucks Steve in closer. “It ain’t over,” he insists. “We ain’t over, not for a long-”

The Kitsune comes down onto the Atolla landing strip at a sharp angle, moving too fast despite the dense red fog wrapped around the hull. The landing gear snaps on impact and the ship spins in a wide arc along the strip, tearing deep gouges in the asphalt and throwing out a shower of sparks.  
The rear of the ship clips the edge of the open hangar at the end of the runway, bringing it to a sudden, jarring halt.  
Steve uncurls himself from the foetal position he’d been forced into and reaches behind him to press a hand to Buck’s hip, the weight of him solid and comforting.  
“You with me?” Steve rasps.  
A metal hand closes around his fingers in answer, squeezing briefly before letting go.  
“Call in,” Steve rolls onto his front, getting to his hands and knees and taking a breath before sitting up.  
“Here,” Sam wheezes, followed a moment later by Natasha.  
“Fuck,” Luis says emphatically.  
Buck hauls himself over to where the twins are, brushing his fingers through Wanda’s hair and patting Pietro on the back.  
“Clint?” Steve turns to where Clint is slumped over the flight controls.  
“I need a vacation,” Clint stays where he is, groaning softly, his cheek pressed against the altimeter.  
Sam unbuckles himself from the emergency seating, helping Natasha and Luis out of their seats.  
“Wanda? Pietro?” Steve calls over.  
“Come on, babydoll,” Buck murmurs, brushing loose strands of hair away from Wanda’s face. She shudders, her eyes half open and unfocused.  
Buck turns to Steve. “I think the landing took it out of her.”  
“I’m not surprised,” Sam mutters, hurrying over to her side to help.  
“We can’t afford to hang around,” Natasha tries to get a clear look out the window, but the glass is cracked and splintered.  
“I’m fine,” Wanda insists, holding her hands out. Buck bites his tongue and helps her to her feet.  
“Guys?” Clint can make out the runway through the shattered glass, and the sleek black ship coming into land. “We’ve got company.”

Buck grabs the slate and they head down to the Cargo Bay, Wanda limping between Buck and Pietro, Sam keeping close behind, Steve in the lead.  
Luis and Natasha come last, each weighed down with weaponry. Natasha throws a crossbow to Clint, who handles it like an old friend. It is.  
Buck overrides the controls to get the airlock open, and it’s a fall of maybe six feet to get to the ground. Steve climbs out first, holding out his arms to take Wanda, who grumbles that she’s fine, but struggles to stay upright while Buck and Pietro drop down after her.  
They don’t stop to look at the one-man ship powering down at the hangar entrance, or see the occupant climb out.  
The entrance to the Atolla, a single set of steel blast doors, glides open at their approach, leading onto a corridor lined with monitors.  
Live security feeds, news waves, advertisements, all manner of communications from the Allied Planets play across the screens.  
The doors shut behind them, though it’s a handful of seconds before the corridor is filled with the high-pitched whine of a laser.  
“He’s cutting through the doors,’ Natasha calls, unholstering a gun and taking a defensive position, Clint taking his place at her side, crossbow loaded with a bolt and raised.  
“Natasha, come on! We gotta keep moving.” Steve yells. She shakes her head. “We stay together.”  
Sam catches Steve’s shoulder. “This is as good a place as any to make a stand.”  
Buck twists his mouth in a grimace and calls the twins to him. He presses the slate into Wanda’s hands.“Get this to the Vision,” he says firmly.  
Wanda shakes her head frantically. “You can’t fight him without us.”  
“Not fighting him with you either.” Buck turns to Pietro. “Both of you, go. Fast as you can. Don’t come back.”  
Wanda lets out a wounded sound, and Buck cups his hand to the back of her head, his other hand reaching to grip Pietro’s shoulder. There aren’t words in existence for what he wants to tell her, tell them both. So it is his heart he fills up instead. Wanda blinks back tears and nods.  
“Go on,” Buck murmurs. “We’re counting on you.”  
Pietro pulls his sister to his side, and is gone.

Steve takes a half second to breathe, to take in the surroundings. All he can hear is his own pulse in his ears, the moment stretching out beyond its limits before it snaps back again.  
“Luis, on point with Natasha.” Clint opens his mouth to argue. “I don’t want to hear it,” Steve snaps. “Take the rear with Sam. Don’t let anything get past.”  
Clint glowers, but falls back to stand opposite Sam.  
Steve pulls out his pistol and checks the chamber. “You get a clear shot at him, you take it.” He points to one of the screens on the wall, closer to them than the doorway. “He gets to that point you fall back. We’re not gonna stop him, but we can slow him down, give Vision time to get what needs doing done. Are we clear?”  
There is a rumble of assent, and the blast doors crack open. The Black Panther steps through the doorway.  
“Captain,” the Black Panther calls out. “There is only one way that this will end.”  
Luis fires off a shot, clipping him in the shoulder. The vibranium armour doesn’t even dent. “Whoops, my bad!” Luis calls out.  
The Black Panther snarls, and charges.

Luis shoots in short, controlled bursts, targeting the Black Panthers shoulders and knees. The shots clustered, catching his steps and slowing him down. Natasha aims to distract, bullets zipping just past his ear, at the ground in front of his feet. They irritate like the buzzing of flies.  
“Get in line,” Steve calls out when he passes the mark, taking aim.  
Buck shifts restlessly, giving Steve a last, lingering look before charging forward, putting himself firmly between Steve and the assassin.  
The Black Panther throws himself forward, claws unsheathed, and strikes at Buck’s face. He blocks the attack with his metal arm, cloth shredding as the claws scrape across the metal plates, and counters with a punch to the face. It snaps back the Panthers head but he shakes it off, dealing his own blow in return. Buck pulls back far enough for the claws to swipe just past his exposed throat and kicks, his boot connecting with the Panthers gut and sending him stumbling back.  
Buck goes on the offence, throwing punches that miss more often than they hit, driving the Panther back, away from the rest of the crew. The Panther growls and spins, kicking Buck in the chest and knocking him into the wall. Buck slams into a monitor and the screen cracks, the image flaring up briefly before going black.  
The Panther lunges forward, swiping at Buck's face. He twists out of the way, and the Panthers claws scrape along the broken screen. Buck rolls out of the way, giving Steve a clear shot of the Panthers back. There is a crack of a pistol and the Black Panther stumbles. Buck punches him in the side of the head, follows with a kick to his kidney, and the Panther lashes out, catching him in the shoulder and drawing blood. He shoves Buck onto his back, slashing at him with both clawed hands.  
Buck grabs his wrists, ten needle sharp points far too close to his eyes.  
“You got any idea?” he gasps. “The secrets you’re trying to bury?”  
“It’s not my business to know,” the Black Panther hisses.  
“Bullshit.”

Steve storms in and kicks the Black Panther in the side, knocking him off Buck, who rolls onto his feet.  
“The worlds need to know,” Steve says, his pistol cocked and aimed at the Panthers face.  
“And you truly believe that?” the Black Panther speaks slowly, with infinite patience.  
“”Yeah,” Steve braces himself, sees Natasha and Luis moving into position around them  
“You are willing to die for that belief,” there is something grudging in the Black Panther's voice, as though he is impressed despite everything.  
“If it comes to it,” Steve fires, and the Panther dodges. “Prefer if it didn’t come to that.”  
The screens around them stutter and fade, plunging the corridor into darkness before bursting into life again. Flickering images of Hydra files fill the corridor. A white haired boy in a glass-walled cell, darting back and forth. A girl wired up to a monitor while a metal spike is inserted into her forehead, her mouth open in a soundless scream. A man, his blue eyes wide in terror, strapped to a table while Hydra scientists slice open his damaged left arm.  
Buck lets out a choked sound. The images around them shift and change. Men and women and children, cut into pieces and put back together. Made faster, stronger.  
A cage with a solitary figure stood in the center, his face bloodied, his head bowed. His blood streaked silver arm hanging limply at his side. The cage is opened, and another figure pushed inside, the door slamming shut behind them while they square their shoulders and advance forward. What follows is brief and bloody and horrific.  
Steve drops his pistol, grabbing Buck and pulling him into a fierce embrace. Hands clasp around him in turn, flesh and metal, digging into the back of his jacket, tearing through the heavy brown leather.  
“It’s done,” Steve rasps, fixing the Black Panther with a stare while Buck shakes in his arms. “The Allied Planets will know everything that Hydra have done, what they still plan to do.” Steve breathes out, exhausted, relieved. “It’s done.”  
The Black Panther says nothing, and stares up in slowly growing horror at time lapsed footage of a brother and sister side by side in separate cells, slowly starving to death. 

Luis moves first, shouldering his second favourite rifle. “C’mon, guys.”  
He gestures for the others to follow and starts walking along the corridor, into the maze of the Atolla. He keeps his head down, not watching the screens around him.  
Clint reaches out to Natasha, taking her hand in his. She squeezes his fingers and lets him lead her away, Sam following close behind.  
Steve brushes his fingers along the line of Buck’s jaw. “This ain’t you, remember?”  
Buck shudders, swiping at his damp cheeks with his hands. He takes a heaving gulp of air and nods, looking over at where the Black Panther stands unmoving in front of the monitors, horror upon horror flickering before him.  
“Yeah,” Buck swallows. “Yeah.”  
“Come on,” Steve pulls Buck away, following the rest of his crew. “Let’s go find the kids.”

 

\--------------------

 

Steve picks up the last of the battery packs, hefting it onto his shoulder and carrying it through the maze of corridors to the hangar.  
He passes Wanda and Vision in the observation room, the red mist wreathed around her fingers almost as vivid as Vision’s synthetic skin. At least he’s made the effort to dress like the rest of them during their stay. As strange as it is to see an artificial intelligence wandering around the Atolla in a grey sweater, the sight of him in nothing but a utility belt is … Yeah. Too damn weird.  
Still, the two of them have become close, close enough for Buck to make parental growls whenever he feels like Vision is being a little too… accommodating to Wanda.  
Steve smiles to himself and heads down the corridor, the repaired blast doors sliding open at his approach.  
The Black Panther is waiting for him in the hangar, his ship refuelled and ready for departure. Steve sets down his battery expectantly.  
“Captain Rogers,” he says and inclines his head politely.  
“T’Challa,” Steve answers, the words strange on his tongue. “You’re not staying?”  
“Vision was kind enough to offer, but my place is with my people.”  
Steve nods, understanding.  
“You have caused quite the disturbance, Captain,” T’Challa looks almost amused. “Protests, riots. There is talk of reforming the World Security Council.”  
Steve shrugs. “Wheel never stops turning.”  
“I cannot guarantee that SHIELD will not come after you, even if the damage has already been done.”  
Steve looks over at the Kitsune, where Buck is doing the final checks of the hull. “Well, what else is new?” He glances back at T’Challa. “What about you? SHIELD can’t be too happy about your actions either.”  
“The Black Panther has been the protector of Wakanda since the time of Earth Before.” T’Challa squares his shoulders, and looks at peace with himself. “Let them try.”  
Steve huffs and reaches down to pick up the battery again. When he looks around, T’Challa is gone. He watches as the sleek black ship powers up and glides along the landing strip, lifting away and soaring upwards into space.

Steve hauls the battery into the Engine room, squaring it away with the others.  
Buck appears a minute later, bundling up his harness and tossing it into the corner.  
“All ready to go?” Steve asks.  
Buck nods, looking pensive. “You think she’ll stay?”  
Steve opens up his arms and Buck doesn’t need any further invite, curling up against him, head resting on Steve’s broad shoulder, humming as Steve rocks them both from side to side.  
“Maybe. But no reason we can’t swing by now and then, see how things are going.” He snorts at Buck’s disgruntled huff. “Maybe not. Still, doesn't hurt to have an ally. Somewhere to go when we need patching up.”  
Buck digs his fingers into Steve’s waist, just shy of painful. “We got a plan?”  
“Wind blows north, we go north. Same as always.”  
Buck shifts in his arms, burrowing deeper into his embrace. “I don’t wanna go back,” he says, his voice muffled against Steve’s throat. “I won’t be that thing again.”  
Steve curls his hand around the nape of Buck’s neck. “Won’t let it happen.”  
“You promise?” Lips brush against skin.  
“You ain’t a thing, Buck,” Steve whispers into his hair. “You’re a human being, flesh parts and metal, every last piece of you.”  
Buck holds him tighter, and believes.


End file.
